Coffee
by CeeSixAychTwelveOhSix
Summary: Also known as "The one-shot that got a little out of hand." What happens when the head detective can't stop thinking about the new receptionist? Lassie/OC
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This was supposed to be a one-shot. So far, I have seven chapters written with a total of over 10,000 words. We'll see where this goes.  
I try to keep the characters acting like themselves, but I will shamelessly admit that I take great pleasure in meddling.**

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"I'm a hard worker, and I'm discreet."

Karen Vick took her time sizing up the girl seated opposite her desk. "Discreet?"

Deep breath. "I mean to say that I don't go telling work stories to impress my friends. Delicate situations at the office stay at the office." The chief began tapping her fingers on the desk. "To be completely honest, I know that things may happen here at the station that you don't want the general public knowing about until you can control the information, and you can trust me to keep silent."

"Just what do you mean by 'control the information?'"

_Backpedal, backpedal!_ "Only that in order to be effective at keeping the peace, you need to maintain an image of control at all times. Even when you're not sure you have a handle on everything." Vick leaned back in her chair, visibly more relaxed. _Time to move forward again_. "I appreciate that completely, and I would never contradict that image to anyone."

The chief glanced back down at the small stack of papers on her desk. "You have a doctorate in psychology and a masters in criminal justice. Why, may I ask, are you currently unemployed?"

The woman smiled sheepishly. "I don't want to teach, and nobody is really hiring right now. Most police departments aren't looking for a full-time staff psychiatrist..."

"Which is why you're offering your services as a secretary?" Chief Vick smiled a little wryly. "Tough break, Miss Scott. Your recommendations are outstanding. I wish we were looking for a psychiatrist, but we already have one we hire when needed." She studied the résumé for another long minute, the applicant's stomach churning nervously. Finally, the chief stood. "Welcome to the Santa Barbara Police Department."

...

"Usually it's people calling in tips, or calling to talk to someone else in the station. You know how to direct calls?" The new hiree nodded enthusiastically. "Great. Anything you're not sure of, you direct to one of the officers or to the detectives." The female officer smiled shortly at the new secretary. "Other than that, you'll probably be running copies, shredding old documents, that sort of thing." A quick glance around the reception, then, "Good luck."

Melody Scott watched the retreating figure of the officer for a moment, then turned her attention to the desk in front of her. Its contents: a telephone, a desk calendar, a pack of post-it notes, and a mug full of half-chewed pencils and a lone blue pen. Delightful. She planted herself in the chair and set her purse on the desktop, wincing at the high-pitched squeal of the chair's back adjusting to her presence. She pulled out a package of new pencils, a small framed picture, and an antique-looking engraved pen just before the phone rang. _Well, here goes nothing_. "Santa Barbara Police Department, how may I help you?"

"I'd like to speak to Officer McNab, please. This is his wife." The voice on the other end of the line was warm, easy. It was no emergency call; Melody guessed that Officer McNab would be happy to hear from his wife.

"Just a moment please, I'll direct your call." One quick glance at the desktop, then another more critical look. There was no list of extensions anywhere to be found. Presumably the cop who had answered phones before Melody had known them all. _Whoops._ "Umm, pardon me Mrs. McNab, but you wouldn't happen to know your husband's extension, would you?"

A light laugh. "I thought your voice was unfamiliar. First day on the job?"

"More like first minute," Melody admitted with a tinge of embarrassment that she hoped wasn't evident over the phone. "I'm really sorry about this."

"Oh, don't be! I think his extension is 133."

A wave of relief washed over the secretary. "Thank you, just a moment." She placed the woman on hold, dialed the extension and buzzed the desk. "Officer McNab?"

A goofy-looking officer in the corner of Melody's vision picked up his phone. "Yes?"

"Your wife is on line one."

A wide grin broke out across the officer's face. "Great! Thanks!" Melody hung up just as McNab connected with his wife, feeling a great sense of accomplishment. This was immediately followed by another flush of embarrassment, and quickly she jotted down a note to ask the last officer who had phone duty for a list of all the station extensions.

Leaning back in her squeaky chair, Melody surveyed the station. It was eight thirty AM; nothing was really happening in Santa Barbara at the moment. Might as well do secretarial things. The woman rose from her chair and went in search of the coffee maker. She eventually found it, half empty and cold with little bits of lint beginning to float at the top. Melody wrinkled her nose and took the pot to a nearby sink, emptying it and scrubbing it quickly for good measure. She returned to the coffee maker with a pot of water at the ready. The machine was a bit old, but straightforward enough as far as preparations went. The girl set to work making coffee, not paying attention to the sound of footsteps behind her.

...

The first thing Detective Lassiter noticed was the smell of ground coffee. This confused him, for a variety of reasons. First, he was usually the one to make a new pot of coffee in the mornings, unless O'Hara got to the station before him, which was something Lassiter made sure did not happen frequently. Second, he had a cold and hadn't been able to smell anything for a week. This had also made him unbearably grumpy and short with everyone on staff, including his partner; enough so that the Junior Detective had requested today off so she could build up her "Carlton immunity," as she so delicately put it. So two strikes against O'Hara making coffee.

The second thing Lassiter noticed was the humming. Someone was very clearly humming, which was just not something that was done around the station. Upon further investigation, it was country music. A song that Carlton had heard once on a radio station in someone else's car, right before he had written a ticket for the driver. Puzzled, he rounded the corner to the coffee maker and stopped in his tracks.

Light brown hair held back by a black headband, brushing just past shoulders covered by a dark blue knitted top. A pleated, brown knee-length skirt outlined curves in just the right way. Destroying the womanly image was a pair of childish, flat, denim-looking shoes with bows on the tops. Carlton would have choked on his coffee if he'd had any to choke on.

Coffee. This girl was making coffee. This girl that he had never seen before was in the Santa Barbara Police Station, tampering with the Law Enforcement's coffee. Lassiter snapped back into detective mode. "Can I help you?" It came out more accusing than intended.

The girl jumped, startled, and turned around to face the detective. Carlton found himself staring into a pair of deep blue eyes behind squareish-framed glasses and lost his train of thought again momentarily. He cleared his throat. "Who exactly are you, and why are you making coffee?"

Melody felt her face flush. "I'm sorry, um, I'm Melody." His eyes were crystal clear blue. "Melody Scott." He stood almost a head taller than her. "I'm the new secretary." God, was he always this intense? "I was just making coffee?" Brilliant. _It has been established that coffee is being made._

Lassiter blinked. "Secretary?" Finally, he regained control of his head. "Well. All right then. Keep up the good work." He turned and walked to his desk. _Keep up the good work? The hell was that?_ Carlton sat down and began to occupy himself with the cases still on his desk from the day before. It wasn't until he had rearranged all the pencils in his mug that he realized he hadn't introduced himself.


	2. Chapter 2

"Santa Barbara Police Department, how may I help you? ...Detective O'Hara is not in today, can I take a message? ... Could you repeat that number again? Thank you. ...And tell her Mittens says 'hi.' Got it! ...You're very welcome. Have a wonderful day!"

Melody glanced at her watch. It was almost six. Chief Vick had said that she could leave around six thirty, since they usually turned on the machine at that time anyway. She stretched, leaning back in her chair and eliciting the squeal again. It had been a good first day, all things considered. She'd gotten her hands on a list of extensions after making the coffee that morning and the rest of the day had gone pretty smooth. The happy officer, McNab, had stopped by her desk to introduce himself and make small talk throughout the day, and most of the other officers had come over at least once to meet the new secretary.

The only person in the station who seemed to be avoiding contact with Melody was the intense detective from the coffee maker.

Occasionally he would walk by, mostly to go shout at McNab about something (usually something that had already been taken care of, curiously enough), and then he would return immediately to his desk. A few times Melody had thought that he hesitated as he walked within view of the reception, but he never stopped or even looked at her. This had allowed her the opportunity to study him a little more in-depth. Now that she wasn't caught up in his eyes, she noticed that he walked incredibly straight, with purpose, and maybe just a hint of tension. He moved as if he was prepared to draw his gun at a moment's notice, which he probably was. Melody decided that he definitely _was_ that intense all the time.

She also noticed that he wasn't wearing a wedding ring.

Melody chided herself for even wondering. It was her first day at a new job and she was already ranking her co-workers' date-worthiness! Talk about unprofessional. Besides that, she knew absolutely nothing about the man except for the fact that he was a detective. He could be a terrible person. Or boring. Or gay. So there was no sense in getting caught up in his eyes. Or his imposing presence. Or the strength of his jaw...

This was a recurring issue in Melody's life. She was the queen of unrequited fantasy romances. The first time this had happened was when Melody was thirteen. She just knew that Tanner Shelly was going to ask her to the eighth-grade dance and then they were going to start dating, and he was going to write her a love song and play it for her in front of the whole school because he was a sensitive boy who was going to fall in love with her. Then she caught him torturing a baby bird and punched him in the face, ending up suspended from school for a week and broken-hearted. And it had only continued through high school and college. Usually they were boys that she knew within a very limited setting. She created elaborate personas for them, and when they didn't live up to her expectations she would cry for a week and stop talking to them entirely.

By the time she had worked her way through her PhD, Melody had decided that enough was enough. It wasn't fair to her or the men she was interested in. She gave up on dating and tried to maintain a lifestyle that kept her out of situations where her overactive imagination could get the best of her. This had worked pretty well, up until now.

Now, all Melody had to do was glance in the detective's direction and she could feel herself start to slip back into that unhealthy, hyper-attracted phase. She shook her head and sat straight up, busying herself with the messages she had taken throughout the day. This time would be different, she assured herself. This time she would not let her heart get itself into trouble again. She would be completely professional toward everyone at the station, including that detective.

"It's Lassiter."

Melody jumped and gasped, startled. She looked up to see those eyes yet again. "Excuse me?" she managed to stammer.

The detective fiddled with his tie before sticking out his hand. "I'm Detective Carlton Lassiter. Head Detective of the SBPD." The two stared at the outstretched hand, neither sure what to do. Carlton cleared his throat nervously. "I, uh, didn't introduce myself earlier. Sorry."

Finally getting a hold of herself, Melody took Lassiter's hand and shook it, markedly ignoring how strong his grip was. "Nice to meet you, Detective Lassiter. I'm Melody-"

"Melody Scott, I know." Carlton felt his face flush. "I remember. I just thought I would come over and welcome you to the department." He hesitated, realizing that her hand was still gripped in his. "If you ever need anything, just let me know." Wait, what? Carlton Lassiter was extending an open invitation to some girl he'd never met before, just in case she got confused by a stapler? He quickly let go of her hand. "Well. Right."

Melody scrambled to gather her thoughts. "Thank you, Detective. I really appreciate that." He nodded, stood in front of her desk awkwardly for a few moments, then turned to walk back to his desk out of sight from the reception. Melody watched him go with a mix of relief and disappointment, tinged with the thrill of getting to study his backside for a few unobserved seconds.

"Miss Scott! A word, please?"

Melody swiveled around in her chair to find Chief Vick leaning out her office door, an expectant look on her face. The receptionist rose quickly and crossed to the chief's office, maintaining a look of calm even while her insides were buzzing with alarm. _Have I already screwed this up?_

Vick sat behind her desk and indicated the chairs in front. "Have a seat, please." Melody sank into a chair, steeling herself for rejection. "How was your first day? Any problems?"

Melody allowed herself to relax slightly. She shook her head. "No, no problems. Once I found a list of the phone extensions." She smiled tentatively at the chief. "Were there any complaints?"

"Not at all, Miss Scott." Vick paused, studying the girl. "I noticed that you met Detective Lassiter this morning."

Was it that obvious? "Yes, I startled him at the coffee maker." Melody noticed that the chief's eyes were locked on her, anticipating something. "He seems... friendly?"

Whatever Chief Vick had been expecting, this was not it. Shock was evident on her face. "Friendly? That's not usually the first word that comes to mind when someone describes my head detective." She leaned towards Melody, conspiratorially. "I know Detective Lassiter can come off as... intimidating, at the very least, but he's really not that bad once you get to know him. I hope he didn't say anything to you to discourage you from working here."

It was Melody's turn to be shocked. "Oh, no, of course not! Chief Vick, I assure you he was very welcoming. I mean, once he realized that I wasn't trying to poison his coffee."

Vick smirked and rose from her chair. "Well, I suppose there's a first time for everything. Thank you for your work today, Miss Scott. I'll see you tomorrow at eight thirty sharp." Melody stood and moved to exit the office, but the chief stopped her. "And Miss Scott? It is very important to me that everyone in this department maintains a certain level of professionalism. I assume you understand me."

Melody smiled and nodded quickly. "Of course, Chief." Loosely translated: you are here to be the secretary. Nothing more.

...

That night, Carlton found himself unable to focus on his Tivo'd episode of COPS. Granted, it was one that he'd seen five times already that week, but usually that meant that he could fast-forward to the best arrests and watch them over and over again. This was not to be on that particular evening. Carlton felt uneasy, kept glancing around the room at the suspect photos pinned up on the walls, at his secret gun stashes, at the one picture he still had up on the mantle of his wedding day. He stood up from the couch and walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and closed it again, unsatisfied with the usual spread of a few containers of leftover Chinese and the single half-drunk beer. Rubbing his temples, Carlton wandered back into his living room. This agitation was entirely due to his cold, still barely hanging on. That had to be it, he decided as he flicked the picture of a jewel thief he had yet to apprehend. That, and the fact that his partner had been gone all day, and he had been stuck at the station because apparently today had been No Crime Tuesday.

It had nothing at all to do with the new receptionist that wouldn't leave his thoughts alone.

Letting out a frustrated grunt, Lassiter crossed the living room to stand in front of the mantle. His eyes came to rest on the photo of he and Victoria on their wedding day. It never ceased to amaze him how happy she looked, how happy they both had been on that day. Neither had had any idea that within a few years, they would be separated. That within a few years, their divorce would be final. Sometimes he wondered if it hadn't been a mistake to get married. Maybe he would be happier now, still a bachelor and not a recent divorcee. Maybe Victoria would be happier, married to someone who wasn't married to his job.

Slowly, Carlton turned away from the photo and walked to his bedroom. It didn't matter now. The past was the past, and someday he would get beyond it all. Actually, it was a little strange; usually, when he let himself think about his wife, Carlton would feel like crawling into bed and staying there for a week. This time, he just felt like he needed a hot shower. As he pulled off his tie, the detective found himself wondering if the new receptionist liked guns.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a little more than a week now, and Melody was still completely overwhelmed by Detective Lassiter whenever he so much as glanced in her direction. She tried to write it off as being intimidated by his status as a detective, but no dice; Melody found herself completely at ease with not only every other officer on the force, but Lassiter's partner as well. Juliet had taken a shine to the secretary immediately and had offered to take her out to lunch that very day, an invitation that Melody had happily accepted. Already, they were acting like old friends. Jules had quickly initiated the new girl into all the station drama.

"Not that it's all that dramatic, I mean, besides the whole crime aspect," the detective was quick to disclaim. "But there are a few... personnel issues that you should probably know about."

Specifically, the staff psychic named Shawn Spencer. Melody leaned forward, eyes gleaming with interest as she gestured with a fry. "He's really psychic? That's amazing!"

Jules grinned ruefully. "Well, as far as we can tell. He and his friend Gus run a psychic detective agency, and we hire them frequently. They're actually responsible for solving a lot of our most important cases."

The psychiatrist in Melody was starting to get the better of her. "Has he ever been examined? What's he like? Is he extraordinary in other ways as well?"

The detective flushed slightly and laughed. "Well, I wouldn't say that. I mean, sure. I guess. He's really funny, and pretty smart when he decides to be. And he's got these eyes..." She glanced up and saw Melody's raised eyebrows. Juliet coughed and looked down. "But no, I don't think he's ever been examined or tested. His mother is a psychiatrist, though, actually our psychiatrist, so I would imagine she's checked him out. And his father is an ex-cop, total stickler for protocol. As far as we can tell, Shawn is strictly legitimate." She took a sip of her iced tea and glanced at her watch. "Oops, we should be heading back to the station. I've got the check this time."

Melody grinned and grabbed her purse. "Next week on me?" She liked this detective, and couldn't resist the opportunity to continue probing her about Psychic Shawn.

Jules grinned back. "Sounds like a plan."

No, it was safe to say that Melody wasn't intimidated by status. It was something about Detective Lassiter that made her lose control of her thoughts, not something about his badge. Unfortunately, it appeared that he was completely unaware of her. The only interactions they had were when Melody had to forward a call to him, or came over to place a message on his desk. On a certain level, the woman was pleased that she was able to maintain that much control. So far, she hadn't made an idiot of herself over a man who was probably too busy to have anything to do with her. But on the other hand, Melody wished she had the backbone to at least say something to him once in a while, other than "Line two for you, Detective Lassiter." What if he thought she didn't like him for some reason? What if he thought she was a hermit, afraid of her own shadow?

Melody glanced over at his desk, only to see Lassiter looking in her direction. She smiled briefly, but he had already turned his gaze back to his computer screen. Sighing, the secretary turned back to the open crossword puzzle on her desk. _Four letter word for attachment..._

_..._

"Spencer, get out of my chair!"

The psychic grinned and tossed a paper airplane at the detective. "Come on, Lassie. How can you be so grumpy all the time when your chair is so comfortable? The lumbar support on this thing is just incredible."

Carlton suppressed the urge to use the snarky faux-detective for target practice and braced himself on the top of his desk. "Spencer, I asked you here to help me with a serious matter. It pains me to do this, so will you please just cooperate with me this one time?"

Shawn shrugged and stood. "Alright, sorry buddy. Is this another pro-bono case to help one of your childhood heroes? And why does Gus have to stay out of it?" The man gasped theatrically. "Did Gus murder your childhood hero?"

"Will you cut that out?" Carlton glanced around the station uneasily. "Follow me." He led the young man into the chief's office and closed the door behind them. Shawn's expression turned more serious as Carlton made sure to close all the blinds before turning to face the psychic. "Spencer, I have a problem."

Shawn examined the detective for a moment before responding. "Lassie, is this something illegal? Because I would have thought that you of all people-"

"No, it's not illegal!" This was turning out to be more exasperating that originally anticipated. Carlton ran a hand through his hair. "I asked you to come here because I thought... well, I know you have considerable experience in this area, and I've been out of the game for a while, and I didn't want Guster to know about this because he's not exactly the most knowledgeable... What?"

The grin that had slowly been growing across Shawn's face was now big enough to split his head in two. "Lassie. Lassie, Lassie, Lassie. Is this about a girl?" Carlton's face flushed beet red. "It is! I can't believe it, Carlton Lassiter is having girl problems!"

A growl issued from the back of Carlton's throat unbidden. "Alright, Spencer, I should have known better than to ask you for help-"

"No, no, I want to help you, I really do," Shawn protested through laughter. "It's just, I never would have suspected that you would come to me about something like this." The man calmed himself down and leaned back against the chief's desk. "Alright, so who is she?" The stony look on the detective's face made Shawn change tactics. "OK, you don't have to tell me. What's the problem?"

Good question. Carlton hadn't thought how to phrase exactly just what was bothering him. _I don't know how to talk to girls_ sounded so elementary, although it covered the gist. _How do you know if she likes you back?_ What was this, high school? "How would one go about declaring his feelings for someone if he hasn't exactly... talked to her? Ever?"

"You've never even talked to her? Does she know who you are?" Shawn tilted his head, considering the detective. "You're not stalking her, are you?"

Lassiter didn't even bother to answer that. "Well, I mean, I've introduced myself, and we talk sometimes, but... I don't even know if she's single. Or interested." A short pause. "Maybe I should stake her out..."

"No, Lassie, that is Wrong Move Numero Uno." The psychic pondered for a moment. "Why don't you just ask her out? You could go get coffee. Starbucks is the Switzerland of dating." Carlton turned a little green, and Shawn quickly changed tactics. "Or you could eliminate face time entirely. Send her flowers. Anonymously. See how she reacts, who she suspects?"

Carlton nodded slowly, a slight smile creeping across his features. "Flowers? I can do that."

"But not roses." The detective nodded and pulled out a notepad and pencil. "Roses are too serious. At least, not red roses. Pink, yellow, or white. Something bright, like daisies, or carnations." Shawn thought for a moment. "No, not carnations, those are funeral flowers. Stick to wildflowers and things like that. But nothing dyed fake purples and greens. That's tacky."

"Right, tacky." The pencil and pad retreated back into Lassiter's pocket, and the detective relaxed long enough to unintentionally glance in the direction of the reception, which Shawn noticed with a hint of surprise. "Thanks, Spencer. I guess you're not a total waste of space all the time." With that, he flung open the office door and took off, presumably to buy flowers, leaving a mildly offended and highly entertained pseudo-psychic staring after him. Who knew that Lassie was a human being?

Well. Shawn rubbed his hands together. Time to bother Jules. He'd noticed she was wearing that perfume he had secretly left on her doorstep. Lassiter wasn't the only one who had trouble making his intentions known.


	4. Chapter 4

"I have a delivery for Melody?"

The girl looked up from her book to see an FTD flower man standing in the doorway. "That's me," she offered, slightly confused.

"Sign here." Melody took the pen and signed the clipboard, her curiosity rising. Who would send her something at work? The deliveryman handed her a box marked "fresh flowers" and nodded. "Have a nice day."

"You too," the receptionist called after him as she carefully opened the box. She stifled a gasp and lifted out a bouquet of exquisite, bright pink lilies and light pink roses. Still inside the box were a square cut-glass vase and an envelope with her name on it. Carefully, Melody placed the flowers in the vase and placed them on the corner of her desk, where they could be seen by just about anyone in the station. She turned her attention to the envelope, opening it with trembling hands (why was this so exciting?) as a small audience began to form around her desk. She was just about to read the card when a voice jolted her out of her thoughts.

"Who's it from?" Buzz McNab, ever-eager, leaned over the secretary's shoulder, trying to get a glimpse at the message in the card. Melody turned and noticed that four other officers, as well as Juliet, had gathered around to see who had sent her the flowers.

"Excuse me!" she cried indignantly. "Don't I get to read it for myself first?" Buzz looked down at the floor, ashamed, and the other officers dispersed as if they hadn't been interested in the first place. Only Juliet remained, undeterred by her flustered friend. Melody sighed, resigned to the detective's presence, and read the card.

**Hopefully these will brighten up your workspace**

**Even though you've already brightened it up considerably.**

Juliet frowned. "Well, that's... sweet, in an oddly formal way."

Melody shook her head, smiling goofily. "It's the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me." She turned the card over, then back again. "But there's no name."

The junior detective's eyes lit up. "Ooh, a secret admirer! That's exciting! Who do you think it is?" Not waiting for a reply, she continued. "It could be someone here, in the station. It has to be someone who at least knows where you work, and judging from the note it's someone who has seen you here."

"Yeah," Melody agreed half-heartedly, not quite as enthused as her friend was about actually finding out the identity of the sender. "That's probably right."

"Oh, I'm going to come up with a list of who could have sent these to you, and then we'll narrow it down." Juliet's grin was impossibly bright. "This is going to be so fun! Like a scavenger hunt!"

Melody laughed at the woman's enthusiasm. "Sure, Juliet. Whatever you say."

The detective sighed happily. "Well, I have to get back to a case I'm working on, but I'll draw up the list when I have time and get back to you on that." She wiggled her fingers at the receptionist and returned to her desk, leaving Melody alone to admire the bouquet.

She leaned in close to the flowers and inhaled deeply, reveling in the delicate fragrance of the roses and the sweeter smell of the lilies. In the back of her mind, Melody wondered who would spend the time and money to send her flowers. This sort of arrangement wasn't exactly cheap, and not many people she knew would care to send her something like that. Most of her friends didn't think she was the type of girl who liked flowers. Really, Melody didn't think she was the type of girl who liked flowers. But maybe that was because she'd never been given flowers before.

Was there any truth in Juliet's assumption that someone from the station had sent them? Melody carefully scanned in all directions until her eyes settled on Detective Lassiter's desk. She found him watching her intently, almost eagerly, but when she caught his eye he stood up quickly and walked down the hall, presumably to the holding cells. The woman frowned slightly and turned back to her flowers. Could it have been him?

_Well, no use in worrying about it now_, she thought as the phone rang. "Santa Barbara Police Department, how may I help you? ...Please hold." She glanced at the card and smiled, warmth spreading through her chest. She keyed in the extension. "Chief Vick, the DA is on line one..."

...

It was late on a Friday, and all Juliet O'Hara wanted was to go home and take a long bubble bath. And with the last report written up and placed on the chief's desk, that yearning was about to become a reality.

"O'Hara, could I have a word with you?"

Jules winced. Almost home free. Still, when she turned to look at her partner it was with a warm smile. "Everything alright, Carlton?"

The lanky detective sat with his feet up on his desk, fiddling absently with his pen. "The new receptionist. You talk to her, don't you?"

Curious, Jules sat on her desk, fixing her eyes on Lassiter. "Yes, we're friends. Why?"

He shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. "Does she ever talk about people here? What she thinks of everyone?"

Uncertain of what exactly was going on, the junior detective forged ahead cautiously. "We talked about some of her first impressions the first time we went out to lunch together. She said that everyone seemed incredibly friendly, if a little distant. And she thinks Shawn is... interesting."

"Oh." There was a certain inflection to Carlton's voice that Juliet had never heard before. About to ask why the opinion of the receptionist was so important to the head detective, her partner cut her off. "So I heard she got flowers today. Who, uh... who sent them?"

"They were anonymous," Jules replied slowly. "Carlton, why are you so interested?"

"They could have been bugged. Or hiding a bomb." His face was the image of innocence, which alerted Jules to an ulterior motive. She contemplated pursuing the idea, but decided that it wasn't worth it. If Carlton had his heart set on pretending not to know anything, then she would just leave and go home to take a bath.

The woman shook her head and stood up. "Well, goodnight partner. See you tomorrow."

"Goodnight," the detective called after her. Just as she put her hand on the door, he sat up rapidly in his chair, swinging his legs down to the ground. "What did she think of the card?"

Jules glanced back absently. "Oh, she liked it. I thought it was a little stiff, though." She made her way out to her car, but stopped at the door in shock as a thought occurred to her. She hadn't mentioned a card to Lassiter. A slow smile crept across her face. Well, well. Maybe a list wasn't necessary after all.


	5. Chapter 5

Monday dawned flowerless and gray, the clouds over the ocean as oppressive as the cell walls in the station basement. Currently, the building was mostly empty, with the exception of the receptionist and a few of the night shift. Melody sipped her coffee groggily and fiddled with the objects strewn across her desk. Joining the single picture in its frame and the pens and pencils were a few books, a lime green stapler, and a mug decorated in pastel flowers and butterflies that currently housed the pencils and pens. She dusted off the glass of the picture frame, smiling briefly at the image of her and her mother posed in front of the Grand Canyon the summer before her freshman year of college. It was her favorite picture of the two of them; besides that, it was one of few pictures of her mom, who claimed to be un-photogenic and preferred to be behind the camera than in front of it. Melody made a mental note to call her mother just as the door to the station opened.

Butterflies found their way into Melody's stomach as Detective Lassiter walked through the doorway, shaking himself to rid the raindrops from his jacket. He glanced at the reception and stopped in his tracks, bewildered. "Where are your flowers?"

Melody flushed. "I took them home over the weekend. They're in my bedroom..." Actually, they were on her bed stand so late at night, when she couldn't sleep, she could look over and see the flowers glow silver in the moonlight.

"Oh." Carlton stared at the girl for a moment before regaining control of his thoughts. "Well, good morning." He hesitated, about to go to his desk, before turning back to face Melody. "What are you drinking?"

She hadn't expected an interrogation first thing in the morning. "Um. It's a dark chocolate mocha. Single shot. I get jittery." Too much information for small talk. "There's fresh coffee in the coffee maker. And your mug is clean." Why were they the only two people in the station? Why wasn't the phone ringing? Melody didn't know how to handle an actual conversation with this man. She was just really good at looking at him when he wasn't paying attention.

Carlton blinked, startled. "You didn't have to do that." A pause, and then, "Thank you." Another long, awkward pause. Finally, Lassiter nodded his farewell and quickly went to his desk. He glanced down and noticed that his hands were shaking. It had taken a lot of control not to just reach over the desk, pull the girl to him and kiss her until she couldn't breathe. Which was strange, because usually the only uncontrollable impulse Carlton ever had to squash was the urge to strangle Shawn Spencer. Not to mention the fact that Carlton Lassiter had never, ever, _ever_ had such a strong immediate attraction to anyone in his life before. Not his last girlfriend, not even his ex-wife. It was a little frightening. Lassiter wasn't used to not being in control of himself. He'd started getting used to not being in control of everything around him; he'd had to, since the chief had started hiring Spencer to work cases. But he was always, _always_ in control of his own actions and feelings.

Damn it. He knew what he was about to do, and it killed him. But it was really his only option. Carlton pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number. "Uh, yeah, hey Shawn, Carlton Lassiter..."

...

"So, what, I'm your dating coach now?"

Lassiter glared at the man on the other side of the desk, but didn't say anything. He didn't have home turf advantage in this case; he had agreed to meet Spencer at the Psych office.

Shawn tossed a paper ball at the trashcan next to Gus's desk, making it in easily. "Not that I'm opposed to this at all. I'm just not sure how much extra I should charge you..."

"I'm not paying you, Spencer," Lassiter spat. "You said you would do this favor for me."

Gus walked in to the back office, a steaming mug in his hands. "Of course we're not going to charge you. Right Shawn?" Shawn nodded reluctantly and leaned in towards Carlton, folding his hands. Gus took the seat next to the cop and held out the mug. "Coffee?"

Carlton groaned and cradled his head in his hands, causing the psychic team to exchange a confused glance. "Gus's coffee isn't that bad, Lassie. The cinnamon adds an exotic flavor."

Lassiter looked up at the two. "No. Coffee makes me think of her. Thinking of her makes me want to do stupid things."

Shawn frowned. "Stupid things like...?"

The image of misery, Carlton sighed heavily. "Ask her out on a date."

Gus let out a laugh that transformed rapidly into a cough at the cop's glare. Shawn was more straightforward. "Asking a woman that you are interested in out on a date isn't usually classified as 'stupid.' Unless, of course, that woman is married. Or is actually a Tibetan monk."

Gus shot his partner a withering glare. "I don't think women can be Tibetan monks, Shawn."

The man shrugged. "Well, what, are there Tibetan nuns? Come on Gus, think about this for a moment."

"That's it!" The detective was on his feet, gathering his jacket. "I should have known that you clowns would treat this like a joke."

"Come on, Lassie, calm down. We're sorry, ok?" Shawn stared intently into Lassiter's eyes, trying to project calming vibes. "Now, tell us what the problem is. Did you send her the flowers?"

"Wait, what flowers? Did you already know about this, Shawn?"

"Of course, Gus. Lassiter came to me last week and told me not to bring you because I am clearly more experienced with women than you are."

"What? That's ridiculous. I've been married before! You've never had a girlfriend for longer than, what, a few months?"

Lassiter watched the two argue, feeling vaguely like he was watching a terrible cartoon that he couldn't turn off no matter how hard he tried. "Yes, Spencer, I sent the flowers," he interjected, regaining the men's attention.

"And?" The psychic watched the detective expectantly. "Did she suspect anyone?"

"As far as I know, no," Carlton replied, shrugging. He stood and walked over to the window. "I mean, I asked O'Hara if she sounded like she had any idea who they were from, and O'Hara said no..."

Shawn jumped up from his chair. "Jules knows this girl? Both you and Jules know who this girl is, and she knows her well enough to have talked to her about anonymous flowers..." He stopped, a light bulb flash idea striking him. "Oh my god, Lassie, you have the hots for the new receptionist!"

Lassiter whirled around, cursing his clumsy tongue. "Her name is Melody, and I don't have the 'hots' for her! I just..." He stopped, sinking down onto the nearby couch. "Whenever I'm around her, I can't think straight, and I... I just... it's..." He stared down at his fists, clenching and unclenching them rhythmically as he tried to regain control of his breathing.

Gus let out a low whistle. "Lassiter, you've got it bad." He let out a laugh. "Almost as bad as Shawn does for-"

Shawn flailed out with his leg, kicking Gus in the shin and stifling his best friend's comment. Turning his attention back to Carlton, the psychic offered up a rare piece of genuine advice. "Lassie. She didn't have any idea who sent her the flowers, so that means she isn't involved with anyone. She's free and clear! What's the harm in asking her out? Take her to lunch. Or go to coffee. Or tea," he added hastily, remembering the detective's earlier reaction to the idea of coffee. "Tea is classy. Just... something fun and easy. No pressure." Noticing that Carlton still seemed a little uncertain, Shawn smiled. "Come on. What have you got to lose?"

...

"I'm sorry. Did I hear you correctly?"

Carlton felt like a ten-year-old boy again, standing in front of his mother and waiting for a reprimand for skipping school. "Yes. I would like to know what protocol is regarding inter-department relationships."

Chief Vick regarded her head detective for a moment. "Detective Lassiter, I absolutely cannot condone a relationship between you and Detective O'Hara. I know it's hard when you spend so much time with someone not to develop an attachment to-"

"What? Oh, no, no! Chief, no..." Lassiter found himself on the verge of hysterical laughter. This was going to be harder than he thought. "No, there is absolutely nothing between me and Detective O'Hara."

"Oh." Vick leaned back in her chair. "Well, I'm afraid it's still against policy for a detective to date a subordinate officer from the same department. That's not to say that it doesn't happen, just that it either happens secretly or under intense scrutiny."

Carlton ran his hand through his hair. "Um, well, you see, it's not exactly an officer that I would like to pursue. I mean, hypothetically of course, because I'm only asking about policy because I would like to know-" He stopped at the look he received from his chief. "I, uh, would like to ask Melody out on a date."

"Oh!" Lassiter's eyes widened; that didn't sound like rejection. "Well then, Detective, I wish you luck. Technically, Miss Scott has been hired specifically by me; I sign her checks, not the State. For all intents and purposes, she's a consultant. You're not breaching any protocol." The chief glanced at her watch. "If that is all, I have a meeting to get to across town. I trust you can handle command for a few hours."

Carlton stood and moved towards the door. "Of course, Chief." He reached to open the door for his boss.

Chief Vick stopped in the doorway. "Oh, and Carlton? Please be careful. She's a good secretary, and I would rather not have her quit just now."


	6. Chapter 6

At 0900 hours the next morning, Carlton confronted Nemesis. He approached cautiously, after checking his tie and hair in the bathroom mirror (it was his favorite tie, O'Hara had complimented it once or twice), and all the while experiencing roughly the same kind of apprehension as when he had to sneak up on a criminal in hiding. Only this time, it would probably be a bad idea to draw his gun.

Melody, for once, was completely unaware of the detective in turmoil. Her attention was taken up entirely by the phone lines that had decided, quite uncharacteristically, to ring off the hook all morning. "Santa Barbara Police Department, would you please hold? Thank you. Santa Barbara Police Department, how may I help you? Chief Vick? May I ask who's calling? Yes sir, Mr. Mayor, but she's currently on the line with someone right now... would you please hold for a moment? Thank you, sir. Santa Barbara Police Department, how- Oh, no, I'm sorry, you must have the wrong number. Thank you. Santa Barbara Police Department, how may I help you? A tip? Let me connect you to an officer. Thank you. McNab? Line three, please. Sir? Yes, Chief Vick is off the line, I'm connecting you now. Thank you for holding." The frazzled receptionist replaced the receiver with a heavy click, taking a moment to breathe deeply while the phones were silent. A slight cough startled her out of said moment and her eyes snapped up to meet an increasingly familiar gaze. "Detective Lassiter! How can I help you?"

_Be a man, Carlton. Face it head-first._ "Miss Scott, how long have you been working here?" _Three weeks, exactly, not counting last weekend._

"Three weeks, Detective." The girl looked troubled. "Is there a problem?"

"In fact, there is." Melody frowned, startled, and Carlton rushed on to ease her worry. "You have been working here for three weeks and I still don't know the first thing about you." He paused, trying to gauge her response. Did she know what he was trying to get at? "I thought that maybe sometime you and I could go someplace and I could find out more about you."

Melody shook her head, confused. "Wait. Are you trying to say that you want to interrogate me?"

Whoops. "What? No, that's not... I mean, well, I'll probably end up asking most of the questions, but that's not-"

The phone rang again. "I'm sorry, Detective, I have to answer this." Staring resolutely at the telephone, the girl removed the receiver from its cradle. "Santa Barbara Police Department, how may I help you? Detective Lassiter? Just a moment..." Melody glanced back up at the man, who currently looked as if something of his had just been burnt to a crisp in front of his face, and shrugged apologetically. "It's for you," she offered weakly.

Lassiter nodded, backing away towards his desk. "Yes. Well. Great talk! We can come back to it... some other time..." The detective turned around and beat a hasty retreat to his desk, muttering frustrated curses under his breath.

...

Advanced Whitening, or Advanced Protection?

Melody stood in the dental hygiene aisle of the grocery store, pondering Colgate. It always came down to the same dilemma. Every time she ran out of toothpaste, she would rush to the store only to realize that she didn't remember what variety of paste she used. One kind of toothpaste was the familiar, clean taste of every morning and night. The other was the startling, foul taste of oral betrayal. If only she could taste-test each brand.

Grimly, Melody reached out and made her decision, placing the box of Advanced Whitening in her basket and hoping for the best.

Minutes later the woman was walking across the parking lot, toothpaste in hand. Melody glanced at her watch and quickened her pace; if she hurried, she could make it home in time for the MASH marathon. Just about to cross the street and head down the block, she was startled out of her rush when she came face-to-face with the one detective that would not leave her alone. This time, however, appeared to be purely unintentional; his face looked as surprised as she felt.

"Miss Scott, hi!" The officer had his arms full with two bags of groceries and seemed genuinely happy to see the receptionist. "What brings you here?"

"Um, toothpaste." Melody bit her lip; she wasn't exactly projecting the most confident and articulate attitude around this man. "I just live a few blocks away," she added with a smile, forcing herself to relax. "Planning a big meal?"

"What? Oh, no, I usually shop for a week in advance. Saves gas, you know." He paused for a moment and glanced around. "Metaphorically. I walked." Detective Lassiter smiled, the first real smile Melody had seen from him. "So you live close by? Whereabouts, if you don't mind me asking?"

She didn't mind at all; she was still startled by his smile and how his eyes lit up. "Just over on Third, that way," she gestured with the box of toothpaste. Realizing for the first time that his bags must be heavy, Melody reached out her arms. "Here, let me help."

Reluctantly, Lassiter relinquished one of his bags. "That's on my way, actually. Would you like me to walk you home?"

Melody was shocked by the gesture. She hadn't had a man offer to walk her home since college. It felt a little bit like a romantic move. Although she supposed that one didn't get to be a cop and a detective without developing a bit of a protective instinct, and Detective Lassiter probably just wanted to make sure that she got home safe. "Sure," she replied with a little bit wider smile. "Thank you."

Lassiter smiled back and the pair walked in silence for a minute. Then he broke the silence. "So, Miss Scott..."

"Please, call me Melody," the girl interrupted, feeling uncharacteristically bold. Her request was received with another dazzling smile.

"Alright, then call me Carlton." The detective held her gaze for a moment before deciding that the head of lettuce at the top of the grocery bag was extraordinarily interesting. "So... Melody... how long have you been in Santa Barbara?"

"About a month and a half now. I grew up in Washington and got tired of the cold winters. So I went to school in Arizona, then grad school at UCLA." She shrugged, smiling at the sidewalk. "I got used to the weather, but I've never liked huge cities. Santa Barbara's about the size of the place where I grew up." She looked up, studying the detective. "How long have you been here?"

Carlton shrugged. "I've lived here my entire life." They halted at a curb and he reached out to press the crosswalk signal. "I've never really wanted to go anywhere else. Everything I know or care about is right here, and I'm alright with that." They crossed the street and continued down the block.

"And you've always wanted to be a cop?"

He grinned. "Well, when I was really young I wanted to be a cowboy for a while, but pretty much, yes." Melody noticed that his eyes grew troubled for a second. "I like knowing that I keep people safe, that I put the scum behind bars. I like knowing that justice gets served." The cloud passed and his eyes were neutral again. "What about you? Your life ambition is to be a secretary?"

Melody laughed. "Of course." She thought for a moment. "I still really don't know what I want to do. I pursued psychology because I've always liked learning what makes people tick. I focused on criminal justice because... I want to help the people who help keep us all safe. But, as you can see, I'm not exactly in high demand right now." She shifted the bag of groceries in her arms. "Sometimes I think I should go back to school, get a different degree. But that's a lot of money that I don't have, and I still have loans to pay off. So for now, I answer phones." The woman glanced around at their surroundings for the first time in a while. "There's my house."

Carlton smiled. "No kidding. I live literally a block away. There's mine," he said, pointing a block down. "Here, let me take that..."

"Oh!" Melody carefully handed over his second bag of groceries. She glanced up at the door to her house and back at the man standing at the end of her walkway. "Thank you for walking me home." She could feel the shyness creeping back upon her; it was frustrating. They had been doing so well!

"You're welcome." Carlton hesitated, throwing a look over his shoulder to his house before clearing his throat. "You know, I was wondering..."

"Yes?" Did the hopefulness dripping from Melody's voice sound as pathetic to Carlton as it did to her?

"Would you like to go to dinner sometime?" _Don't leave it open-ended, Lassie, then she'll feel like she's trapped into saying yes just so she doesn't sound like a jerk._ Horrible, how his dating conscience sounded like Spencer. "Maybe later this week? Thursday?"

Melody felt butterflies in her stomach. Not just butterflies, but exploding butterflies that turned into glitter and confetti. "Absolutely!" Too desperate? Did it matter? "Thursday sounds great."

"Great!" It was almost too good to be true. Carlton could hardly believe his luck. "I'll pick you up at seven?"

She couldn't help the grin that was beginning to spread across her face. "Seven sounds wonderful."

"Great!" This was beginning to be repetitive. "I'll see you then! I mean, I'll see you tomorrow, at the station, but I'll..." Carlton stopped and took a deep breath. "Goodnight, Melody."

"Goodnight, Carlton." Melody watched him turn and walk all the way to the section of sidewalk in front of his home before making her own way into her house. She waited until she had securely shut the door behind her before allowing herself to let out a girlish squeal and sink to the floor, still clutching her toothpaste. She, Melody Scott, had a date with Detective Carlton Lassiter. Her mind wandered to the bouquet of flowers currently residing on her nightstand. Was it all too good to be true? Maybe. But she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She was just going to go on a date and have a good time. Beyond that, who knew?


	7. Chapter 7

"So the bullet wounds were here, here, and here, but the idiot ringmaster insisted that the shots had come from the audience, which is ridiculous because the clown had been riding a unicycle on a high-wire, and the shots were clearly fired from the same level as the clown, and not below from an audience vantage point..."

Melody watched, barely restraining her laughter, as Carlton illustrated in crayon what he referred to as "The Dead Clown Story" using fairly accurate diagrams of both the victim and the crime scene. Part of her was horrified at the gruesome details, and wished that she had never bitten when Carlton had mentioned stories that Juliet had previously warned him were off-limits for first date conversations. But most of her was morbidly fascinated and incredibly entertained. She listened through to the end and tried as hard as she could not to laugh, but finally gave in. She was rewarded by the surprised and pleased look on Carlton's face that quickly morphed into one of disappointment as she rose from her place. "What's the matter?" she asked, wondering what she had done wrong.

"I shouldn't have told that story. O'Hara told me not to... you're going to leave now, aren't you?" Carlton looked mournful, but resigned to his fate.

Melody shook her head and smiled. "No, that's possibly the funniest story I've ever heard. But I really need to use the restroom before we go."

The detective tilted his head and crossed his arms, examining his date with scrutiny. "You're not going to escape through the window or out the back?"

"I promise I'll be right back," she assured him with all sincerity, wondering how any woman in her right mind could possibly skip out on the man in the middle of a date. They must have been idiots. She pushed her chair in and made a point to leave her purse on the seat where Carlton could see it.

As she washed her hands and prepared to go back out to her date, Melody contemplated the evening thus far. Carlton had shown up at her house precisely at seven that night, wearing a dark blue shirt that brought out his eyes even more strikingly that usual. He wore a jacket but had foregone a tie, opting instead to leave the top button undone. Melody could hardly take her eyes off of him.

She brushed a stray hair out of her face and examined her own appearance in the bathroom mirror. She had left her hair down, allowing the ends to curl just slightly. Her dress was light green and came to just above her knees; not incredibly daring, but pretty in her own opinion. Carlton had seemed to like it; when she opened the door to her house, his eyes had gone wide and the first words out of his mouth had been "you look beautiful."

Besides the initial awkward silence as he began driving to their dinner destination, the night had been fun and easy, with conversation flowing almost nonstop. So far, Melody knew his favorite color, had heard about every gun he'd ever owned, and it had been revealed to her that secretly, he liked to sing showtunes in the shower.

Melody closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was a little reluctant to go back out into the restaurant, because eventually the date would have to end. But she didn't want Carlton to think that she really had escaped out the bathroom window... and she already missed staring into his gorgeous eyes. Suppressing a schoolgirl giggle, Melody exited the bathroom and made her way back to the table.

When she sat down and looked across the table, she was met with an uncharacteristically mischievous look. "How are you at ski ball?"

...

Carlton stood with Melody at her doorstep, large blue teddy bear under one arm. The girl was grinning ear-to-ear. "Who knew that scoring ten thousand tickets was so easy?" she teased.

The detective shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. "What can I say? I have practice hitting targets with precision." He smiled, allowing his pleasure to show on his face. "I felt bad after watching you play two games without any points at all."

Melody laughed. "I'm more suited to crossword puzzles, I think." The pair lapsed into a comfortable silence for a moment. Then Melody reached out and placed her hand lightly on Carlton's wrist. "Thank you for tonight. I had a really great time," she said softly, looking shyly up into his eyes.

"I did too," the man agreed. He hesitated visibly, then slowly leaned down close to the woman, his lips mere millimeters from hers. There was a heart-wrenching moment of stillness; then, their lips touched.

Melody had been kissed before; she could count the number of times on one hand. Each time had been nice, she supposed. She had really liked the boys, and it had felt good to be that close to someone at the time.

This experience was completely different. As soon as his lips were on hers, she was consumed with a desire for more. She reached up and wrapped her arms around Carlton's neck, pulling him closer. The detective dropped her bear that had been captive under his arm and wrapped both his arms around her waist. This kiss was electric, powerful... it felt like life starting over again.

Carlton broke away first, convincing himself that it was important to be a gentleman even though every cell in his body was screaming for more of the woman in his arms. Melody rested her head on his chest, breathing deeply and trying to slow her heart rate. She had never felt anything this intense for any man in her entire life, and here she was with someone that she barely knew. She looked up when she felt, more than heard, the man's words. "I should go." His voice was oddly low and rough. It sent shivers down Melody's spine.

The girl let her arms drop to her side as his words began to sink in. She nodded, backing slowly away as her head began to clear. "Right." She smiled shakily and looked up into a pair of ice-blue eyes; Carlton looked just as dazed as she was. Quickly, she stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips. "Goodnight, Carlton."

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Goodnight," he echoed. Melody watched him walk back to his car, then waved and giggled as he turned around and smiled at her under the street lamp. She waited until he was down the block and almost to his house before unlocking her door and going inside.

The poor blue teddy bear was left to guard the porch that night.


	8. Chapter 8

The first thing she noticed as she rounded the corner to the police station was that Detective Lassiter's car was already in the parking lot. Melody winced, feeling guilty; she hoped he hadn't been working all night after their date. They hadn't gotten home until after midnight. She should have realized that the Head Detective was always on call and let him go sooner. The next thing she realized was that Gus's car was in the lot as well. This slowed her approach. Either the psychic team was paying a random visit to the station the same morning that Carlton decided to show up to work early, or the department had just gotten its hands on a high-profile case. Sighing, Melody quickened her pace; the phones would probably be ringing off the hook again today.

She nodded at the officer who sat at the phones overnight and tossed her purse under the counter, taking stock of the small pile of messages waiting for her. So far, just a few confirmations that prisoners had been transported successfully. Anything important would have already been relayed to Chief Vick. Melody glanced in the general direction of the chief's office. The door was closed, and through the blinds Melody could see Shawn Spencer and Gus standing in front of Vick's desk, along with detectives O'Hara and Lassiter. Shawn appeared to be flailing wildly, probably having a vision, although she had noticed that he tended to flail just for the fun of it. Melody smiled wistfully; she would love to have the chance to sit down with him and talk. She'd always believed in the supernatural and unexplainable, much to the chagrin of most of her professors who wished that she would just be a good scientist and doubt everything. But there were so many things that science still couldn't explain about the human mind; who was to say that psychic abilities weren't real? Shawn seemed to be a living example of the legitimacy of ESP.

Vick's office door opened and the four filed out, with Shawn and Gus leading the way. They were arguing about something that had Juliet in thinly veiled stitches. Carlton looked annoyed, as was normal after dealing with Shawn. Melody busied herself with tidying her desk, trying not to look like she had been watching the interaction in the office. The dynamic duo came to stand in front of her desk, the psychic with a cartoonish smirk and the pharmaceuticals rep with a look of weary tolerance. "What's up, Mel?"

Melody smiled warmly at the pair. "Good morning Mr. Spencer, Mr. Guster. New case?" It struck her as funny that Shawn had already given her a nickname, especially one that she had never let anyone call her before. Within a few days of meeting her, Shawn had gotten most of the station to call her Mel, with the notable exceptions of Detective Lassiter and Chief Vick. And Gus, but Melody suspected that was because he was sympathetic to victims of unwanted nicknames; he had initially been introduced to her as "Ghee Buttersnaps."

"Mel, please. It's Shawn and Gus. No need to be formal." Shawn reached across the counter to take one of Melody's pens; Gus elbowed him in the side and the psychic's arm retreated back to his side. "Some dot-com genius was found dead in his condo last night. Looks like a suicide, but my money's on murder."

"Why do you say that?" She leaned in, all ears.

Shawn put his hand up to his temple. "I keep getting strong vibes that his business had just gone down the tubes. He was completely broke. He had some pretty powerful investors who might do anything to get their money back."

Melody frowned. "But an Internet mogul who just lost all his money might have been desperate enough to kill himself. Is there any evidence of foul play?"

Shawn blinked, taken aback. "Wow, Mel, thinking of becoming a cop? That's exactly what Lassie said."

"Well, he said it with a little more disdain, Shawn. And he called you a nimrod."

The psychic glared at his best friend. "There's nothing definite yet, but something feels wrong about the suicide." He tapped his fingers on the counter for a moment before moving on. "See you later, Mel!" he called over his shoulder.

Gus shook his head and followed his best friend. "See you, Melody. Shawn! You are not driving!"

Melody laughed and watched as the two men drove off. She had no idea what the station had been like before acquiring a psychic detective team, but she imagined it had probably been a little quieter.

"Alright partner, let's go." Detective O'Hara strode towards the entrance of the station with purpose, slowing only to grin at the receptionist and wave on her way out. Melody waved back, then turned to see Detective Lassiter following at a slightly more measured pace. She felt the butterflies begin to well up again as she remembered for the hundredth time the feel of his lips on hers. Carlton came to a halt in front of her desk, an expression on his face that made her want to launch herself at his lips again.

"Good morning," he offered brightly. McNab, who was walking by at that moment, was so startled at the cheery tone in his superior's voice that he nearly ran into a wall. Oblivious to the near-disaster, Melody smiled and murmured a "good morning" in reply. "O'Hara's waiting for me, but I wanted to give you this..." Carlton dug in his pocket, pulling out a folded up note and placing it gently on the reception desk. He backed away with a smile, bumping into poor McNab and scaring the living daylights out of himself. "McNabb!" he barked, his ears turning red with embarrassment. "Watch where you're going!" He turned back and found himself staring into the eyes of a clearly amused receptionist. He straightened his tie unnecessarily and cleared his throat. "Have a good day," he offered as he beat a hasty retreat to his car.

Buzz watched Detective Lassiter go with anxious confusion. "I didn't mean to bump into him," he protested.

Melody laughed. "It's ok, Buzz. It wasn't your fault." The officer grinned, negative emotions gone, and continued on his way to his desk. Melody shook her head and looked out the window into the parking lot, where she could just see the Crown Vic pulling out into the street. She had noticed that Carlton tended to be a little... well, terse with people around the station. And just with people in general. But all of his co-workers seemed to know how to handle it and usually didn't let it bother them. And, truth be told, Melody found his tough-guy act sort of attractive.

Her eyes traveled to the note on her desk. She reached out slowly and unfolded the paper carefully as if it were a ticking time bomb. The message was written on SBPD stationary, and Melody smiled in spite of herself; she wondered if he had his own personal stock at home, or if he had written this at the station.

_I know it's a little disappointing after flowers, but this note will have to do for now. Last night was wonderful. I hope you feel the same way. How does dinner on Sunday night sound? -Carlton_

A thrill ran up Melody's spine. Did he really just say what she thought? He was the anonymous sender! She had guessed so when he first asked her on a date, but wasn't certain. But this note confirmed her suspicions. And he wanted to go out with her again!

_Calm down, Melody,_ she reminded herself, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to focus on the to-do list for the day. _You're acting like a teenager. It's just a date. You're both adults._ She allowed herself one last minute to think about the detective, in which she jotted a quick response to his query in the affirmative and ran it over to his desk. Then she started in with her morning's work, beginning with coordinating a group of elementary students and their upcoming field trip to the police station. Twenty ten-year-olds? Shouldn't be too much of a problem to keep them under control, considering the majority of adults in the building were armed...

...

"So? How did it go?"

Detective Lassiter glanced at his partner, then returned his attention to the road. "How did what go?"

Detective O'Hara rolled her eyes. "Come on, Carlton, don't play this game. You came to me yesterday begging for advice for your date with Melody. How did it go?"

_Keep your eyes on the road, Carlton. Left turn up ahead._ "It went well," he replied mildly.

Juliet glared at her partner. "Well? Details! What did you do, what was she wearing, are you going on another any time soon?" It was killing the woman that she hadn't had a chance to talk to Melody yet; Carlton obviously wasn't going to volunteer any information. He just didn't have a grasp on the concept of girl talk. Which, Jules reflected, was probably a good thing.

Lassiter couldn't keep the grin from his face. He liked keeping O'Hara in suspense. "Detective, we're on a case right now. Shouldn't we be focusing on our suspects?"

"You're right," the woman admitted begrudgingly. "Ok, this first guy, Thomas Dillon? He's got a reputation for being a ruthless businessman. Rumor has it that he's been slowly eliminating his competition through the years, by every means possible, but no one's been able to nail him down for it."

Lassiter maneuvered the car into a parking spot outside a large office building. "Let's see if we can get some real evidence." He unbuckled his seat belt and climbed out of the car. Peering over the top of the car at his partner, he felt a smirk returning to his face. "And O'Hara?" She met his eyes, expecting orders. "I told her the Dead Clown story, and she laughed." He slammed his door closed and walked into the office building, leaving an astonished detective gaping after him.


	9. Chapter 9

Date number two was a relaxed event, consisting of a trip to the movies to see a cheesy romantic comedy that, Melody noticed, Carlton had seemed to enjoy more than she, although he denied it afterwards. Upon leaving the theater, the pair took a walk along the boardwalk and held hands, feeling distinctly love-struck and foolish but not caring too much.

Date number three took place during a lunch break. Melody brought him a brown paper sack and asked if he would eat with her on a bench just a little ways away from the station. They spent the half-hour talking about superficial subjects: high school, college roommates, dream vacations, embarrassing moments. If anyone noticed Detective Lassiter's hand on the small of the receptionist's back when the pair came back to the station, they were tactful enough to mind their own business and go back to work.

Date number four, however, had Carlton in a state of agitation as he stood in front of the mirror, inspecting the third shirt that he had tried on that evening. Everything had to be perfect tonight. Melody was coming over and he was going to cook for her, and then he was going to tell her about his divorce.

They had successfully avoided the topic of past relationships in the three weeks that they had been dating, not wanting to rush into anything too serious too soon. Talking about exes within the first few dates was strictly taboo, a warning sign that the loony sitting across the table from you was going to compare you to their last significant other from the moment you first opened your mouth. Discussing the last person to reside in your bed was on par with asking about whether or not your date wanted kids. But things had been going well with Melody. Really well, if Carlton was going to be completely honest with himself; he could feel himself falling for the woman more every day. He wanted to make whatever was between them official, and he thought that maybe she wanted that too.

But if he was going to seriously consider being in a committed relationship again, then he had to be completely honest with her. And that meant telling her about his marriage and subsequent divorce.

Carlton took one last hard look at his reflection in the mirror. He wore dark jeans, which almost never happened, and a light blue button-down shirt that, for once, wasn't tucked in. O'Hara was always telling him to wear more blue, that it brought out his eyes. He smiled; Melody always commented when he wore blue, and that was encouragement enough.

The doorbell rang and jolted him back into the moment. "Coming!" he called out, reminding himself to relax even while he triple-checked that his living room and kitchen were spotless on his way to the door.

Melody stood on the porch, waiting with a bottle of wine cradled in one arm. She broke out into a dazzling smile as soon as Carlton opened the door, and it made him catch his breath. "Hey," she greeted and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"Hey," he echoed. "Come in, please! Make yourself at home," he instructed as he ushered her inside. "You can put the wine on the kitchen counter," he called over his shoulder as he closed the door behind her.

"Would you like a glass?" she asked from the other room. "It's a little different, huckleberry Riesling. It's one of my mom's favorites, she sent it to me for Christmas."

"Sure, let me help you." Carlton came into the kitchen and brought out two wine glasses from a cabinet. "Were you saving it for a special occasion? I'm flattered," he teased as he handed her the corkscrew.

Melody smiled wryly. "I was, but I suppose tonight will have to do." She felt a rush of pleasure as Carlton let out a startled laugh. "So what are you cooking?" she asked as she unwrapped the mouth of the bottle. "It smells delicious."

"Chicken cacciatore and spinach salad." He cast a glance at the saucepan on the stove, making sure that it wasn't boiling over.

"The Irishman cooks Italian!" The woman held out a glass of wine.

Carlton shrugged, taking the proffered glass. "I'm all for diversity." This time it was his turn to startle a laugh out of his date, and he smiled into his wine as he took a sip. Eyeing the rose liquid with surprise, he remarked, "It's good!"

Melody leaned back against the counter, smiling fondly at the detective. "My mother is kind of a connoisseur. She even makes her own. Mostly grape, though."

"Tell your mother that she has good taste." There was a short, comfortable silence. "Want to help me make the salad?"

"Sure. What shall I do?"

Carlton opened the refrigerator and handed Melody a bag of spinach. "Want to be on rinsing duty?" He grabbed two green onions, a few tomatoes, and a bottle of salad dressing and set them on the counter next to a large bowl.

Melody brought the newly rinsed spinach over and dumped it into the bowl. Her eyes fell on the remaining ingredients. "Don't trust me to chop the vegetables, Detective?"

Carlton smirked as he reached for a knife. "Can't be too careful. Chief didn't let me run a full background check on you when she hired you." The girl stuck her tongue out at him and reached for her wine glass, content to watch the man work.

The chicken was ready just as they finished preparing the salad, and the pair moved to the living room to eat their meal. The conversation flowed easily and kept mostly on the subjects of recent cases and past dates. As the minutes passed, however, Carlton could feel himself growing more and more tense. Soon he would have to broach the topic that weighed on him, and he wasn't too confident about Melody's reaction.

"Here, let me get that for you," he offered, noticing that both their plates were empty. He carried them into the kitchen and set them down in the sink, allowing himself a moment to rally his nerves before returning to the living room.

Melody sat on the couch, pivoted to face the kitchen. She studied Carlton's face as he entered the room. "What's wrong?" she asked gently, afraid that she had done something to mess things up. She had noticed his growing agitation as the evening had moved along, and she was afraid that this was going to be it.

Carlton took a seat next to her on the couch and held her hands in his. "I have something to ask you," he confessed, "but first there's something that I need to tell you." Melody nodded, eyes intently focused on his face. He took a deep breath. "I really like you, Melody, and I need to let you know... that is, I'm not sure if O'Hara has told you already, but..." _Be a man. Let it out._ "I'm divorced."

"Oh!" Melody blinked and leaned backwards. Well. That wasn't what she had been expecting. "No, Juliet hadn't told me."

Carlton reached up and grabbed the back of his neck. "It's been official now for almost two years, but we were separated for about four years before that." He looked up into Melody's eyes, heartened by the fact that they only looked sad, not disgusted or embarrassed. "She left me because she felt that I was spending too much time at my job, that I was never her husband because I was too busy being a detective. I wanted to work it out, but she couldn't handle it anymore."

"Carlton, I'm so sorry," Melody said quietly, squeezing his hand. Inside, she felt like crying. He was probably going to say that he wasn't ready for anything, that he still loved his wife and thought that it would be best if they just stay friends.

He shook his head, smiling slightly at the feeling of her hand on his. "No, don't be sorry. Victoria's happier now, and, really, she had a point." He focused his eyes on the wall behind Melody, gathering his words. "Being in a relationship with a cop is hard. We have to be completely devoted to our jobs; a good cop doesn't really have a personal life. Not everyone is cut out to be involved with someone like me. It takes a lot of effort from both sides for anything to work out."

Melody stared down at her lap, trying to process everything she just heard. "What are you saying, Carlton?" she asked, trying to keep her voice even.

"I'm saying..." The man stood up and paced in front of the couch for a few seconds before stopping in front of Melody, locking eyes with her. "I'm saying that I never thought I would get over my ex-wife, and suddenly I don't even think about her anymore because I can't stop thinking of you." He crouched down, taking her hands in his. "I think that what we have has a really good chance of becoming more than just a few dates. And even though it would be hard work, I want you to know that I'm willing to try. I've never met anyone like you."

Melody shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She couldn't believe how honest and open he was being with her. It was completely uncharacteristic of everything that everyone (well, ok, Juliet, Shawn, and Gus) had ever told her about Carlton. Even though she'd already been privy to glimpses of his romantic side, the full extent of it blew her away. Her first instinct was to pull the man to her and kiss him until neither of them could breathe, but a little voice in the back of her head warned her to take it slow. "Carlton, I've never met anyone like you, either." She took a deep breath. "But I have something to say, too." She couldn't make herself meet his eyes; Melody was afraid that she might give in without saying her piece. "I've never actually been in a real relationship. Like, one that went much further than three dates." She laughed quietly. "This is a landmark for me." Finally, her emotions were under control; she looked up and met his eyes. "You're the first for me, in a lot of ways. I've never felt this strongly for someone before, and I've never been able to stay realistic about my expectations of someone for this long." Her gaze fell back down to her hands, which were playing with the hem of her sweater. "Honestly, I don't know if I'm the type of person who can handle being in a relationship with a cop." Deep breath. "But I think I care so much about you that I'm willing to try anyway."

Since their first date, they had been careful to limit their kisses to pecks on the lips or short kisses on the cheek. Frankly, Carlton was sick of it. Hungrily, he pressed his lips to Melody's, gathering her in his arms and slowly rising from his crouched position on the floor until they were both standing and clinging tightly to each other. Melody felt herself begin to lose control as she weaved her fingers through his hair; she forced herself to pull away. "Slowly," she gasped, even as she gave in to the magnetic pull and began to place a line of kisses along his jaw.

"You're right," he whispered into her ear, his hands traveling slowly down her sides. "We should stop now." He gently took hold of her waist and pulled away just as she placed her hands on his chest and pushed lightly. They both laughed breathlessly, drinking in the sight of each other.

Melody stroked the material of his shirt idly. "So now what?"

Carlton rested his forehead on the top of her head. "We could watch a movie," he suggested, trying to ignore the warmth and pressure of her hands on his chest.

"Ok, but you choose. I picked our last movie."

His choice was an old Clint Eastwood Western, a personal favorite; it was one that he'd seen a hundred times before, so he didn't mind that he was otherwise occupied through most of the film. The few times that Melody directed her attention to the TV she tried to catch up to the action by asking questions. "So is he the good guy or the bad guy?"

Carlton stared down at the woman in his arms in disbelief. "He's Clint Eastwood! He's the good guy!"

Melody frowned. "Then why is he so angry all the time? And why does he keep shooting random men?"

The detective could not believe his ears. "They're outlaws, not random men," he clarified with indignation, "and he's 'angry all the time' because he's upholding justice and they're scum."

The girl smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. This is my first Western, I'm a little unclear on the form."

He pulled her close and planted a teasing kiss on her lips. "I guess you'll just have to come over more often."

Melody sighed mockingly. "Darn the luck." She settled her head against his shoulder and set her eyes back on the movie. Carlton kissed the top of her head and focused on the screen, losing himself in the familiar action.

At the end of the movie, the screen went black and Carlton discovered that his date had fallen asleep. He sat up slowly and shook her carefully. "Hey, movie's over," he murmured.

"Hmm? Oh, sorry," she said through a yawn. "What time is it?"

Carlton glanced at his watch. "Almost eleven. What time do you have to be at work in the morning?"

Melody stretched and yawned again. "Chief wants me there at six thirty." Mentally she cursed the city's transit system; she had to wake up at four if she wanted to make it to the police station by bus any time before seven.

"Come on, let's get you home." Carlton gently hauled the woman up off of the couch. "Do you have everything?"

She nodded sleepily. "House keys and phone are in my pocket. Didn't bring a purse." She intertwined her fingers with his as they made their way to the door and down the block to her house.

Carlton made sure that Melody was deposited safely behind her front door before turning around and slowly walking back to his house. Not usually a fan of stargazing, he cast his eyes up to the sky and inspected the heavens. He felt like a teenager at the start of his first real romance. He didn't like being vulnerable; most days his life depended upon his ability to close himself off from everyone else. But it was a little refreshing to be back in a place where nothing was certain and where he was completely at the mercy of someone else. For a moment, completely alone, Carlton Lassiter allowed himself to be helpless, and enjoyed every second of it.


	10. Chapter 10

**I haven't done an author's note in a while. Just a few things: first, thank you to everyone who reads and reviews! You're all very encouraging. And thank you to those of you who read and don't review. I don't leave reviews often either. Thanks for sticking with me!  
Second, updates may be sporadic because I tend to get writer's block and walk away from my stories for weeks at a time or more. I've been forcing myself to write through the block, but I don't like sacrificing quality for quantity. So far, I've been pretty steadily inspired.  
Speaking of inspired, I'm really pretty excited for where this story is going. I promise it will be more than just a relationship story, although that is kind of the focus. I do have an actual plot that I am building towards.  
Third (fourth? I think the last point was a tangent to 2), SPOILER for Mr. Yin Presents (really more of a vague reference, but still).  
Lastly: I love Shawn. Sometimes I forget how much I love Shawn because I love Lassiter so much. This chapter reminded me how much I love Shawn.**

**Enjoy!**

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It didn't take a psychic to see that the head detective and the receptionist were an item, which was probably a good thing since the resident psychic was a fraud. What was surprising, at least to Shawn, was the tiny detail of just who was being discreet about the relationship and, more importantly, which of the two was _not_ discreet in the least. Aside from a warm smile when the detective had entered the station, Melody had remained completely focused on her job all morning. In complete contrast, from what Shawn had observed from the edge of Jules' desk, the officer in quiestion couldn't keep his eyes off of the girl for more than two minutes at a time and kept finding excuses to get up and walk past the reception area. Shawn could barely restrain his laughter when Jules walked over to Lassie's desk and slapped her palms down on the surface in order to get his attention.

"Hi Detective Lassiter, your partner here. Just wanted to know if I could get your input on this case that we're supposed to be working on. Together. Right now." The startled detective cast another glance at his girlfriend, and Juliet sighed. "Carlton, I'm really happy that you've found someone," she conceded, dropping the sarcasm, "but you're not focusing. You're acting a little bit like a teenager. Now, if you want, I can ask McNab to help me with this case..."

"What?" The dreamy look was gone from Lassiter's eyes, replaced with indignation and determination (and a few other -ations that Gus would know but Shawn couldn't be bothered to name). "Don't put the rookie on this case! I claimed this one, it's mine." He shot one last look over to Melody, who happened to be facing his direction. She smiled, causing him to soften for a moment. Jules cleared her throat and he snapped to attention. "Right. So. String of robberies. Has anyone questioned the owner of the jewelry store?"

Juliet glanced through the case file. "No, doesn't look like it."

Lassie nodded. "Let's go." He snatched his jacket off of the back of his chair and took off towards

The female detective rolled her eyes and returned to her desk, maneuvering easily around Shawn to set the file down and grab her gun. She smiled at the psychic. "See you later, Shawn. And stay out of trouble! You're not working this case."

The man raised his hands in mock surrender. "Trouble? Me? I have no idea what you're talking about." He grinned as Juliet shot him a withering look and followed after her partner. Absently he wondered if she had noticed that she hadn't told him to get off her desk, or that her hands had been mere inches away from his derriere when she reached for her gun. Forcing himself to think about something else, Shawn reached for the case file. He scanned the robbery reports and took in the crime scene photos; there were signs of forced entry in every picture, but there was something in the back of Shawn's head telling him to look closer. He read through the reports again. No alarms had been triggered at any of the businesses; the crimes had all been reported the next morning. So either the thief had figured out the alarm codes for each location... or he already knew them, and staged the break-ins after the fact.

"Insurance fraud? Really? So unoriginal," Shawn murmured. He made a mental note to find out if the businesses had been struggling financially before the robberies took place and set the file back down on Juliet's desk. The faux-psychic took a moment to examine the rest of the desk's contents: one cheap ballpoint pen, a half-empty cold mug of coffee, numerous sticky notes covered in distinctly feminine handwriting, a framed picture of an O'Hara family reunion circa 2004 (pre-Santa Barbara, mid-police academy) and, taped to the bottom of her computer monitor, a photo of Jules with her arms around Shawn and Gus. Shawn smiled as he recalled the event; the pair had kidnapped Jules on her birthday and taken her to Red Robin, where much to her embarrassment Shawn had alerted their waitress that it was, in fact, the detective's birthday. Pros: free ice cream sundae. Cons: annoying birthday song and the attention of everyone in the restaurant. But Juliet had dealt with it all quite graciously and had even admitted to having a good time. The waitress had offered to take a picture of the three. Shawn hadn't known the Jules had printed it, or that she kept it on her desk.

The psychic detective let his gaze travel to the reception. He would never admit it out loud, but Shawn Spencer was jealous of Carlton Lassiter. How was it that the divorced detective, the man who thought tact was an embarrassing skin condition, had secured himself the object of his affections in a matter of weeks? Shawn had been working on Jules for over three years, and still nothing. Well, not quite _nothing_, but pretty damn close. Of course, dating Abigail for about a year probably hadn't helped the psychic get closer to his goal. Really, both Shawn and Juliet had horrible timing when it came to relationships. Or maybe just when it came to their relationship.

If he was going to be completely honest with himself, he was terrified. There was a reason that Abigail had been his first real girlfriend. Shawn wasn't the type of guy to follow through on emotions. Vulnerability was not a comfortable place to be. And with Abigail, he hadn't really been all that vulnerable. True, he had loved her in high school. And sure, she was a great girl and he had cared a lot about her. But love? Truthfully? Probably not. Everything with Abigail had been comfortable, convenient. Routine. Juliet O'Hara was not comfortable, convenient, or routine. She was exciting, frightening, and a hell of a lot of work to get close to. More than that, she had been with him through some incredibly insane, ridiculous times. She understood him, probably as much as if not more than Gus and Henry understood him. He was terrified that he would ruin that, ruin her.

But sometimes Shawn thought that maybe, just maybe, Jules was terrified too.

They had ignored each other for about a week after the Yin incident, trying to get back into some semblance of normalcy before dealing with the elephant in the room. Then, when they did start talking again, neither had been able to find the courage to confront the other. So they were back to the uncomfortable tango of more than friends but less than lovers that had been going on almost from day one.

Shawn schooled his thoughts and slid off of Juliet's desk. Time to go have an episode at the scene of the crime. He sauntered towards the front of the station, happening to catch the secretary's eye on the way out. "Hey Mel," he greeted with a grin and slowed to a standstill in front of her desk. "How's things with our studly head detective?"

Melody flushed slightly and fiddled with her pen, a sheepish smile on her face. "You noticed? Should I be more subtle?"

Cue the infamous Spencer smirk. "Actually, it was your boyfriend who gave it away. But don't worry, I won't start spreading malicious gossip about you two."

"Much appreciated," Melody replied sarcastically. "So, what are you up to today? No Gus, I see."

"Yeah, he had some meetings with clients. For his real job. Whatever." Shawn shrugged and leaned forward against the reception counter. "Although he does help me to channel some of my more powerful visions on occasion, I am perfectly capable of communing with the spirits without Gus."

"True, but I bet some of your more obscure references tend to fall flat without him." Melody laughed as Shawn visibly conceded the point. "Speaking of your visions, I was wondering... would you mind letting me sort of analyze you sometime? Nothing strenuous," she added quickly, noting the alarm on his face. "I'd just like to learn about your psychic abilities. I almost wrote my doctoral thesis on ESP, but I figured I probably wouldn't be awarded my degree that way." Shawn relaxed, and Melody felt bad; people probably wanted to probe his brain all the time, sometimes literally. She suddenly felt like she was taking liberties with the psychic.

"Sure, I'd be more than happy to let you into my head, so to speak." Shawn was just relieved that the woman believed in him and didn't have any intention of disproving his so-called powers. He hadn't considered the possibility that Lassie had tried to sow seeds of doubt within the station, but Melody's request had shocked him very quickly into anticipation of the worst. The assurance that she was just an interested spectator was incredibly welcome. "Why don't you come by the Psych office on one of your days off? Then you can get the whole Shawn Spencer experience, Gus included."

"That sounds perfect! I'll give you a call before I come over." Melody blinked, redirecting her focus. "But we were talking about your plans for today."

Shawn nodded. "Well, I'm about to go solve the robberies."

Melody frowned. "Didn't Juliet say that you weren't in on that case?"

The psychic scoffed. "I can't tell the spirits not to reveal things to me just because some mere mortal didn't OK my involvement. Besides, they're going to realize that they need me on this one in three... two..." Shawn's phone went off, and Melody gasped. The man answered his phone and waved to the receptionist on his way out the door. She didn't need to know that his phone's vibrate kicked in about a second and a half before the ring tone. "Jules! What's this? You need me? It just so happens that I'm free..."


	11. Chapter 11

"And if we go down those stairs over there, we'll be in the holding cells. That's where we keep the bad guys that we catch until they can be taken to prison or put on trial." A little boy raised his hand, waving it around frantically. Melody smiled. "Yes, you have a question?"

"Are there any bad guys down there right now?" The ten-year-old's eyes were wide with anticipation.

Melody shook her head. "No, not today. Thankfully, there haven't been too many arrests this week." The secretary stifled a chuckle at the disappointment that settled on Mrs. Barker's fourth grade class. Their teacher, however, looked quite relieved at the news. Another student, a girl this time, raised her hand. "Yes?"

The girl took a deep breath. "Um, are you a cop?"

"Of course not!" one of her classmates interrupted. "Girls can't be cops!"

"Actually," Melody interjected, regaining the kids' attention, "I'm not a police officer. Just a secretary. But women can be cops. We have a lot of female officers here. In fact, Santa Barbara's chief of police is a woman, and so is one of our top detectives."

A murmur of excitement passed through the group. "Do they have guns?" the girl squeaked.

Melody laughed. "Yes, they have guns. And Detective O'Hara is a very, very good shot." She glanced in the direction of Juliet's desk and noticed, just past it, Carlton was sitting at his desk and watching the field trip in progress. She caught his eye and he smiled warmly. "Hey kids, do you want to meet one of our detectives?" Suddenly his smile vanished, replaced by a look of minor panic. Melody just smiled innocently as the children reacted with elation. "Detective Lassiter?" she called out. "Can I borrow you for a minute?"

Carlton glared at his girlfriend for a moment, then crumbled under the power of her puppy-dog eyes. He rose from his desk and walked over to the group of students, feeling as if he were going to his doom. "Kids, this is Detective Lassiter," Melody narrated as Carlton forced his features into not-quite a smile. _Can't let the rug-rats think I'm soft._ "He's the head detective here in Santa Barbara. Do you guys have any questions for him?"

One boy raised his hand. Carlton took one look at him and pegged him for a future repeat-offender. "Do you have a gun?"

"Of course I have a gun," Carlton scoffed. At a warning look from Melody, he softened his tone. "I'm a detective, and I'm on duty. It's part of my uniform."

"Can we see it?"

Carlton hesitated and glanced over at Mrs. Barker, who shrugged in a "what-can-you-do" kind of way. The woman was probably in her late-fifties and everything about her appearance suggested that she'd rather be retired and far, far away from her students. "I don't see why not," he conceded, secretly thrilled at the chance to impress the kids. He pulled his Glock out of its holster to gasps and squeals, then slowly turned the gun over in his hands so the children could see.

"Do you get to shoot people all the time?" This from a different boy.

"Just because you get to carry a gun doesn't mean you can shoot people," Carlton evaded as he replaced the gun in its holster. "Police officers have a huge responsibility, and we don't just discharge our weapons whenever we want to." This was mostly true; since he started dating Melody, instances of Carlton firing his weapon had decreased considerably.

The little girl that had asked about Melody being a cop raised her hand again. "Do you know the girl detective?"

Carlton allowed himself a slight smile. "Yes, Detective O'Hara is my partner."

"Is she pretty?"

This startled Carlton. "Um, well, yes, I suppose, but I don't really..." he replied, shooting a look to Melody. The secretary bit her lip to hold back a grin; it was nice to see Carlton squirm sometimes.

"Are you in love with her?" The girl's eyes were wide, earnest curiosity on her face.

"No, I'm in love with someone else," came the automatic reply. Carlton heard a slight intake of breath from Melody just before his own words registered inside his head. He felt his face begin to turn bright red but kept his eyes trained on the kids.

"Is _she_ pretty?"

"Ok, I think that's enough questions for now," Melody interrupted, clearly flustered. "Say thank you to Detective Lassiter." The children chorused their thanks and followed the receptionist down the hall to the entrance of the station, leaving Carlton to rehash the last ten seconds over and over on the television monitor in his brain. Talk about word vomit. It wasn't that he hadn't meant what he'd said. In fact, the exact opposite was true; he did mean it, which was why it had been a knee-jerk response. It was just that... well, it wasn't exactly the way he'd envisioned himself telling Melody how he felt. He had been planning a romantic evening, maybe on the beach, maybe naming a star after her... Well, that was a little much, but the sentiment was there.

Announcing his feelings unthinkingly to twenty ten-year-olds and a menopausal fourth grade teacher was not particularly romantic by any stretch of the imagination.

Judging by Melody's reaction, said announcement may not only have been unromantic, but unwelcome as well.

The dejected detective returned to his desk, hoping fervently for a murder or kidnapping; anything to brighten his day.

...

Melody propped her chin up on her hands, resting her elbows on the table. "Thanks for meeting with me on such short notice. I know it's your day off..."

"Not a problem," Jules assured her friend, shrugging out of her jacket and draping it on the back of her chair. "We were about due for lunch anyway. Is everything alright?" Melody's voice when she had called the detective had sounded rather panicked. Juliet had rushed to meet the woman at their favorite restaurant, abandoning her riveting game of solitaire.

"Yeah, I think. I mean... I don't know." The receptionist ran an agitated hand through her hair. She fidgeted in her seat for a few moments, aware of Juliet's penetrating gaze, before blurting out, "Carlton's in love with me."

"Oh!" Whatever Jules had been expecting, this was not it. "Is that... bad?"

"No! Well, I don't know." Melody reached out and picked up the saltshaker, turning it over in her hands absently. "I mean, we've only been dating for two months now. A lot of people would say that we're kind of rushing into things."

"Do you think you're rushing?"

The question took Melody by surprise. "No," she replied slowly. "I don't think so. I mean, the day we met I just felt like... nothing I'd ever felt before. It's all just felt so right, the whole way we've been handling everything."

Jules shrugged. "So what's the problem?"

"I don't know." The woman took a few moments to straighten out her thoughts. "Up until now, everything's been really low-pressure. I mean, yeah, when we decided to be 'official' or whatever, we kind of told each other that we thought we could fall in love, but..." Melody sighed. "I guess I wasn't ready for it to happen so soon. And then he just up and tells me..."

"How did he tell you, if you don't mind me asking?" Juliet's eyes were alight with curiosity.

Melody laughed in spite of herself. "You know how today was the elementary field trip to the station?" The detective nodded. "Well, long story short, one of the students asked him if he was in love with you, and he said no, that he was in love with someone else." She paused. "I'm assuming he meant me."

Jules bit her lip. "Oh, poor Carlton! That's really... not romantic. At all."

For the first time since the incident, Melody allowed herself to see the humor of the situation. "To be fair, I don't think he intended to tell me yet. And definitely not like that. The question just took him by surprise."

Juliet nodded sympathetically and the pair lapsed into silence. Finally, the detective spoke. "So I guess the question is, are _you_ in love with _him_?"

...

When Melody returned to the station, Detective Lassiter was gone. He remained gone all afternoon and into the evening, until it was time for Melody to go home. She assured herself that he was just out working on a case, but she couldn't make the nagging guilt at the back of her mind go away. She left work slightly subdued and not knowing whether to hope that Carlton would be home soon so they could talk or that he would be tied up all evening so she could have time to figure out what to say.

She opened up a can of soup and began to heat it up in a pan on the stove, growing more and more despondent, when her cell phone rang. Melody rapidly dug it out of her pocket and her heart leapt up into her throat, then fell back down again when she didn't recognize the number. "Hello?"

"Hi Melody, this is Hank Schiller."

"Dr. Schiller! Hi!" The woman felt a bubble of mild surprise and pleasure begin to form. Hank Schiller was one of the professors of psychology she'd studied under as an undergrad, and had corresponded with him during her stint as a grad student; he had been instrumental in persuading Melody to pursue a PhD. "How are you?"

"I'm quite well, thank you. Your mother mentioned that you're living in Santa Barbara right now; are you enjoying yourself?" Melody stifled a laugh; Dr. Schiller was also nursing a crush for her mother, who was completely oblivious to the man's intentions and thought they were just good friends who happened to e-mail daily.

"Yes, I've been here for a few months now and I love it." She reached out and turned the temperature down on the burner that was heating her soup, then stirred the liquid slowly. "Dr. Schiller, no offense, but I think you've called me a total of three times, and none of those calls were just to check up on me. Is everything alright?"

"Your mother said you're working as a secretary. Is that correct?"

Melody blushed at the derision in his voice and ducked her head. "Well, yes. I'm working for the Santa Barbara Police Department as their receptionist." There was a long disapproving silence on the other end of the phone. "It's not a bad job. I like it there," she defended lamely.

"Yes, and I'm certain that selling ice cream to small children out of a van is not a bad job either, but that is not a job that a brilliant woman with a PhD should be working either, no matter how desperate she is for income."

"But I'm using it to gain field experience," Melody wheedled. "I work very closely with the officers at the station, and that can only help me in the future if I get instated somewhere as a permanent department psychiatrist." She lifted a spoonful of soup to her lips to taste; not warm enough.

"Or you could get a real job as a real psychiatrist and get real experience that you could apply later to a criminal justice setting if you so desired," Schiller retorted. "And that's why I'm calling."

Melody dropped the spoon in shock. "What?"

"One of the doctors at my office is retiring. I have an office to let, and I want you to have it." The pleasure in his voice was evident, even over the phone. "We need a new doctor, preferably young and able to relate to teens. You're my first pick. If you want the job, it's yours."

"Oh my god." Melody shook her head. "Oh my god!" She held the phone away from her mouth to keep from laughing loudly into Dr. Schiller's ear. "This is incredible! You're serious? Oh my god!" She felt like dancing, singing at the top of her lungs. _A real job! As a real psychiatrist! Wait till I tell Carlton..._

The thought stopped her dead in her tracks. Carlton. Santa Barbara. Schiller's practice wasn't in California. "Um. Dr. Schiller. I would have to move to Phoenix, correct?"

The man chuckled. "If you want to work in my office, yes."

Melody felt her excitement fade rapidly into anxiety. "This is an incredible opportunity, and I'm flattered. But... could I have a little time to think about it? I've just got settled here, and I have a few things I need to work out." That was putting it lightly.

"Of course, Melody. I know it's a big decision to make. Take as much time as you need." Schiller paused. "Well, within reason. I'd like to have the position filled within a month, if that's not too much pressure."

"No, that's fine," Melody replied, even as panic began to rise. "I can decide within a month." She paused, took a deep breath. "Thank you so much, Dr. Schiller. It means a lot that you want me to work with you."

"Melody, if you don't mind me saying so, you're the best student I ever had. It would be fantastic to be able to work with you. Just give me a call when you know either way."

"Will do."

"Have a great evening, Melody."

"You too, Dr. Schiller."

The woman ended the call and stood staring at her cell phone for a few interminable moments. A job. A real job, working as a real psychiatrist with real patients! And she would be working with her favorite professor, her mentor. What more could she ask for? Could she afford to be picky about the location right now? It was a dream job, and it was hers if she wanted it.

Melody's gaze fell on a picture of Carlton stuck to her refrigerator. Juliet's voice echoed through her head. _So I guess the question is, are __you__ in love with __him__?_


	12. Chapter 12

The clock on the microwave read 2:39, its glow mocking Carlton's sleepless state. The man had been off-duty for approximately two hours but remained in his work clothes, wired and unable to relax. He stood in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter with a mug of cold coffee in his hand, lost in thought. He hadn't seen or heard from Melody since his word vomit at the station, much to the relief of a small, cowardly part of his mind. He had committed a supreme tactical slip-up, and he needed some time to rally the troops.

Carlton knew he was falling back on his natural inclination to be non-communicative when personal issues arose. His inner macho man fought with his inner sensitive pansy. And both the inner man and inner pansy were fighting with his inner terrified teenage man-child. On one hand, he felt that the best move would be to allow Melody to come to her own conclusion and talk to him when she was ready; admittedly, this was to keep Carlton from putting himself out there and being vulnerable. But on the other, more feminine (probably manicured) hand, he knew that retreating into silence was probably sending the wrong signal. He didn't want her to think that he hadn't meant what he'd said, or that he regretted saying it! On a third (mutant) hand, he was plain scared of finding out what Melody felt. Also, the fact that he'd been the first to use the "L" word made Carlton kind of feel like throwing up.

A ringing sound issued from his pocket, jolting Carlton out of his reverie. He opened his cell phone to find a text message.

_I can't sleep. Can we talk?_

Ominous, those words. Carlton patted his pocket, making sure he had his house keys, and took off without bothering to send a reply. He practically sprinted down the block, then gathered himself together and slowly made his way up Melody's walk to her front door. She opened the door before he could knock. He only had a moment to take in her disheveled appearance, clad in a gray tank top and lime green plaid pajama pants. "Melody, I-"

Carlton found himself with a woman attached to his face, which was not the greeting he had expected in light of "can we talk." Still, he wasn't complaining as he wrapped his arms around his girlfriend and backed her into her living room, kicking the front door shut behind him. At first he was willing to take for granted that he was experiencing his first-ever booty call, but the analytical part of his brain picked up on the urgency and desperation in Melody's kisses and forced the detective to pull away. "Not that I'm not enjoying this," he said warily, holding the girl at arms' length, "but what's going on?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to..." Melody shook her head, her voice breathless. "I promise I just wanted to talk, but then I saw you and I just..." She took a deep breath and stared directly into the detective's eyes. "Did you mean it?" She was almost one hundred percent certain she knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from his lips.

Carlton nodded slowly. "I love you," he stated simply.

He had expected her to fling herself into his arms and cover him with kisses, declaring her love for him through tears. So maybe he'd seen too many romance movies. He hadn't expected Melody to calmly walk over to her couch and sit in silence. His heart fell as he followed her to the couch and sat down next to her. "You don't have to say it back to me," he assured half-heartedly. "I understand if you feel like it's too soon or something. I really hadn't intended to tell you yet..." Carlton trailed off, uncertain of how to repair the situation.

Melody sat in silence for a minute, staring at her hands. "I got a job offer today." Carlton said nothing, sensing that there was more to the story. "I would have my own office, and patients, and I'd be working with one of my college professors, my mentor, really." She laughed quietly. "It's the chance of a lifetime. All I have to do is say that I want the job, and it's mine."

"What's the catch?" Carlton urged gently, afraid of the response.

"I would have to move to Phoenix. And I have to decide what I'm going to do by the end of the month."

A cold shock ran through the man, but he kept his expression neutral. "Well, Phoenix isn't that far away," he mused. "I mean, it's only, what, a ten hour drive? Less, if traffic's good. We could make it work."

"Carlton, it's almost five hundred miles away," Melody replied miserably. "I don't even have a car, and you take one day off a month if Chief Vick forces you. We would never get to see each other." She looked up into his eyes. "And I'm not going to ask you to leave Santa Barbara."

Carlton started to protest that he would do it for her, but couldn't bring himself to make any sound. His whole life was in Santa Barbara; everything he'd ever worked for, everyone he'd ever known. Could he ever even consider leaving? He studied the woman on the couch next to him for a few long moments, taking in her messy hair and slightly childish pajamas, the dark circles under her eyes and the confusion etched across her face. For her?

"I would do it in a heartbeat," he replied without batting an eyelash.

Melody couldn't stop the warm feeling spreading inside her chest at his words. "No, Carlton, you can't. I won't let you. You would be miserable, and they need you here." But her eyes spoke volumes. She was incredibly touched and deliriously happy for one brief moment at the thought that he would drop everything to be with her.

"So what are you going to do?" Carlton wanted to reach out, to hold her hand or wrap his arms around her shoulders, but the fact that Melody still hadn't acknowledged his words from earlier paralyzed him.

"I don't know." Melody's gaze settled back on her hands again, and she noticed absently that they were shaking a little. "I'm crazy if I don't take this job. I'll never get an offer like this in my lifetime."

"Do you want the job?"

The question stopped Melody in her mental tracks. "I'm not sure," she replied, surprising herself. "But I have a PhD, and my mentor wants me to work with him, and I would be able to pay of my student loans and buy a car... and my family wants me to be successful, and so does Dr. Schiller..."

"Never mind that," Carlton cut through. "Is it what you want?"

What did she want? That was a question Melody didn't often ask herself. She was a people-pleaser at heart, learned through years of watching various men walk all over her mother. Conflict was a terrifying creature to be avoided at all cost. Decisions were to be made with everyone else's opinions in mind. The few times Melody had considered what she really wanted, she had ended up leaving home to go to school in a new state, away from any friends and family she knew. She had spent a summer backpacking around Europe, soaking up culture and adding to her ever-growing pile of debt.

She had found herself living in Santa Barbara, answering phones at a police station.

_What do I want?_

"No. I want to stay here." She looked up, meeting an ice blue gaze. "I want to live here in my tiny little rental house and answer phones at a police station, and I want..." Deep, shaky breath in. "I want to stay with you."

"You're sure about this?" Carlton struggled to keep his voice under control. "You're going to abandon a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity just to be with me?"

Melody nodded, a grin spreading slowly across her face. "I'm in love with you, Carlton," she admitted. "I'm finally happy and I'm not about to give that up."

It was as if a carefully constructed, very fragile dam burst. Carlton pinned the woman down on the couch. "Good, because I'm never going to let you get away." He crashed his lips down on hers and felt her respond eagerly, full of passion. Her hands traveled up his chest and Carlton jerked away. "Still wearing my gun," he explained when he noticed the confusion in Melody's eyes. Glancing down at his holster and badge caused the detective to snap back into reality. It was three AM and he was over at his girlfriend's house, making out with her on her couch. He struggled to force his hormones back under control and made to sit up. "I should probably..."

Melody caught hold of his tie. "No. Stay with me. Please." She was startled by her own assertiveness, but unapologetic.

The look in her eyes was enough to shatter his resolve. "You're sure?" Even as he asked the question, Carlton was uncertain if her answer would have mattered.

In response, the woman pulled the detective close until their mouths were almost touching. "I love you," she whispered. Unable to hold back any longer, he closed the gap between their lips.

...

Melody woke to the sound of a phone that was not hers. Confused, she moved to sit up but was pinned down by an arm reaching across her body to her nightstand. _Oh._ She sunk back into her pillow, resigned to listen in on the conversation with a dreamy smile on her face.

"Lassiter." His voice was rough first thing in the morning; Melody decided she could easily grow used to waking up to it. "Where? ...Is O'Hara there? ...Right. Twenty minutes." Carlton snapped the phone shut and allowed himself to fall back into the mattress, sighing heavily.

"I guess I have to give your shirt back, huh?" Melody grinned, having elicited a laugh from the sleepy detective.

Carlton rolled over and planted a gentle kiss on his girlfriend's lips. "Keep it," he replied. "I can run home and change." He pushed himself up and out of bed, wincing at the slight chill that struck his bare skin.

Melody propped herself up on her elbows and watched as the man quickly dressed. She glanced at the alarm clock next to her bed. Six-thirty. They couldn't have been sleeping for more than an hour. Guilt crowded in as Melody took in the dark circles under Carlton's eyes. She swung her legs out of bed and wordlessly made her way to the kitchen. Carlton watched her go, slightly curious, but continued to gather his things together.

The detective followed the sound of clanging dishes into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around his girlfriend, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. "I'll see you tonight," he mumbled through her hair. "I'm not sure how late I'll be, but I'll call you when I'm done. We've got an apparent homicide today."

Melody nodded distractedly, searching through her cabinets. "I'll wait up for you," she replied.

Slightly put-off, Carlton left and jogged the block to his house. He hastily changed clothes and ran a comb through his hair before glancing at his watch. He had ten minutes to get to the location Vick had given him. The man rushed to his car and had every intention of speeding to the scene of the crime when he noticed a familiar figure standing out on the curb. He slowed to a halt and rolled down his window. Melody was still wearing his shirt and had added a pair of sweat pants declaring the initials of her alma mater.

The woman held out a travel mug. "Three creams, four sugars?" The detective took the coffee gratefully, and Melody leaned in the window of the squad car. "Be safe," she whispered and pressed a kiss to his startled lips. She backed up, once again standing at the curb. "I love you, Carlton."

If he could have, Carlton would have parked the car and gone back inside with her. But duty called. "I love you too," he replied. He drove off, glancing back in the rear-view mirror to find Melody still at the curb, hugging her arms to herself and smiling.

The detective couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his features. He'd never gone to a homicide in this good of a mood before.


	13. Chapter 13

**Time for a word from the author! Which is exactly what you wanted to read, I know. Just a few things, I promise.  
Thing one: updates may be sporadic. I will try (emphasis on try) to have at least one update per week, but... I'm at a point where, when I'm writing this story, I know exactly the end result I want to get to but I'm very unclear as to exactly how to get there. Case in point, I wrote three different versions of this chapter before deciding on the one that you are about to read. As I mentioned before, I refuse to sacrifice quality for quantity. So if there are fewer updates over a short span of time, then just know that I'm trying to make the story as entertaining and thoughtful as possible.  
Thing two: The last chapter alluded to what people in my sophisticated circle of friends like to refer to as "sexy tiems, lolz." If you are looking for anything more descriptive than "... CUE NEXT SCENE," you are reading the wrong story. Sorry. I don't do graphic sex/violence/language. That's not my style. So while there is an arguably tame description of some rather violent aftermath in this chapter (spoiler alert!), that's about as bad as you can expect things to get. Just a heads up.**

**STOP TALKING, STORY NOW!

* * *

**

Carlton's good mood was gone by the time he'd had a chance to inspect the scene of the homicide. O'Hara was outside of the suburban home, sitting on the porch with her head between her knees and breathing deeply. She'd made it to the scene before Carlton, and he'd gotten out of his car just in time to see her walk out the door, pale as a sheet, and kneel to dry heave on the lawn. This was the part of the morning when the Head Detective realized that this was not a routine homicide (if there was such a thing). Juliet had turned her eyes to her partner, shame battling with revulsion and terror as she focused on his face. He didn't say a word; he knew O'Hara was not squeamish in the least. This was bound to be something horrific.

Horrific didn't begin to describe what awaited the detective inside the house. The body was completely unrecognizable, dissected, organs spread out on the floor. Carlton forced himself to focus on the crime, distancing himself from the scene as if it were an abstract painting using reds, pinks and whites and not a morbid collage of human parts. Chief Vick stood to the side of the doorway, arms crossed and looking very ill. Carlton turned to his boss. "What do we know?" He fought to keep his tone even and businesslike, as if this weren't the most gruesome crime scene he'd come across in his entire career.

Vick took a deep breath, unable to take her eyes off of the carnage. "We received an anonymous tip at approximately six twenty-five this morning that a murder had been committed at this location. We looked up the address; apparently, a man named Stan Bernstein lives- lived here." Carlton started at the name, causing Vick to direct her attention to her head detective. "Do you know him, detective?"

Carlton glanced around the room until his eyes settled on a portrait hanging on the wall, confirming what he had suspected. "I'm afraid so. We attended academy together; he dropped out. He's an accountant now." He looked down at the body, then averted his eyes, feeling the gorge rise in his throat. "Or he was." It was harder to disassociate himself from a homicide when the victim was a man with whom he'd gotten roaring drunk in his youth.

The chief inspected Lassiter for a moment. "Detective, if you would prefer to stay out of this case because of your personal ties to the victim, I will completely understand-"

"No." The interruption was quiet but level. "That won't be a problem. I can remain professional." The thick smell of blood was beginning to win out over the detective's iron will and stomach. "I'll call CSU and have them start combing the scene," he began as he turned toward the door. "Let's get the street cordoned off and start interrogating..." Carlton's eyes swept the wall by the door and he froze in his tracks.

"Detective, what..." Vick's question trailed off into stunned silence. Upon the wall, in dripping red letters, was a message.

_Now that I have your attention, Detective... who will be the next victim?_

Panic coursed through his veins as Carlton stood paralyzed with fear. It was an unfamiliar sensation, a detached portion of his brain observed. He'd never been in a situation where he was unable to overcome his emotions before. That was what had made him so effective as a homicide detective. It was this thought that finally forced the man's head to turn and look out the door, his feet carrying him outside with Chief Vick close on his heels. Carlton stopped at the edge of the porch, next to his partner who had finally regained control of her breathing but hadn't quite found the strength to stand.

"I'm sorry. I tried to keep it together." O'Hara's eyes were forward, studying the behavior of two birds busy constructing a nest in the rain gutters of the house across the street. "That is the most... I've never seen... And then the message on the wall..." She turned to look at her partner, her eyes haunted. "It's for you, isn't it?"

Carlton swallowed hard. "Yeah." He wanted nothing more than to collapse into a shaking mess next to Juliet, possibly even cry (which was something he hadn't done since he was a child). In his entire life, the man had never been this afraid or confused. He felt completely helpless.

_Damn it, Lassiter, snap out of it!_ The militant voice in the back of his mind gripped his psyche by the figurative collar and shook it violently. His panic was beginning to be overcome by anger; the psycho had called him out and threatened to continue killing people he knew, and he was going to curl up in a ball and cry like a little girl? "O'Hara," Lassiter barked. "Call CSU, get them down here yesterday. Then call Spencer and Guster." He ignored Juliet's startled look. "Tell them to get down to the station and wait there for us. Impress upon them that this is life or death, and they had better not fool around." Carlton whipped out his cell phone as his partner nodded and moved into action. He dialed a number and waited impatiently for the call to connect.

"Santa Barbara Police Department, this is Officer McNab."

"McNab. Lassiter. I need you to take one other officer and go to Melody Scott's residence immediately. You will bring her back to the station and you will not let her out of your sight."

"Yes sir," came the startled reply. "Is everything alright?"

"Sunshine and butterflies," the detective snapped. "McNab, this is an emergency. You get down there and bring her back safely, do you understand?"

"Absolutely sir!" McNab hung up and Lassiter stared at his phone for a breathless moment before dialing his number one speed-dial.

...

Melody, singing loudly and slightly off-key in the shower, did not hear her phone ring the first time. Or the second time. Or the third. She did, however, hear the loud knock at her door accompanied by the doorbell as she stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her head. She shrugged into her bathrobe and hurried to the door. Upon opening it, she was startled by a familiar face. "Buzz? What are you doing here?"

The normally pleasant officer looked worried. "Hi Melody. I'm under orders to take you down to the station with me. Now." He surveyed her robed state. "You might want to get dressed."

The woman frowned and pulled her robe tighter, slightly self-conscious. "Is everything alright?" She didn't think she'd done anything worthy of arrest recently, unless jaywalking counted. McNab's discomfort was practically an entity in itself, and Melody was willing to bet it wasn't purely from seeing her just out of the shower.

"I don't know," Buzz replied apologetically. "Detective Lassiter told me that it was an emergency, to get you down to the station, and not let you out of my sight." Secretly, the officer was shocked and a little pleased that the detective would give him this responsibility. It wasn't a secret to anyone in the department that Lassiter and Melody were together; the fact that the man trusted him to take care of his girlfriend was a greater show of favor from his hero than Buzz could have ever hoped for.

Melody frowned, beginning to feel worried. Carlton might have a reputation for getting a little gung-ho when he got caught up in the drama of a case, but he'd never waste manpower. She glanced out into the street to see Buzz's squad car. Another officer was sitting in the passenger seat, watching the interaction at the doorway. Two officers under orders to transport her safely to the station meant that something was up. "Come on in, Buzz. I'll just be a minute."

The man followed Melody into her house. The woman expected him to wait in the living room while she dressed, so the alarm she felt when he followed her into the bedroom must have manifested itself in her expression. "I'm sorry, Mel, I'm under orders. Keep an eye on you at all times." The man's face was bright red with embarrassment, but he remained determined.

"Will you at least close your eyes while I get my clothes on?" came the exasperated request.

Buzz hesitated, then compromised. "I'll turn my back. I just need to make sure that no one else is here." He performed a cursory search of her bedroom, and Melody stared at her feet, hoping that he wouldn't notice the shirt draped on the foot of her bed that had obviously been designed for a slightly larger, more masculine frame than hers. Thankfully, if Buzz saw it, he knew better than to say anything. "Ok, go ahead." He turned to face the wall as Melody quickly dressed.

She was about to tell McNab that she was ready to go when her phone rang. She glanced at the number and quickly pressed the call button. "Carlton?"

"Melody!" There was fear in his voice. Melody had never heard that before. "Are you alright? Where are you?"

Something was definitely wrong. "I'm at home. Carlton, what-"

"Why the hell didn't you answer your phone? I called three times!" Melody had never been the target of Carlton's temper before. Even over the phone it was intimidating, sending jolts of hurt and confusion through the woman.

"I was in the shower, I didn't hear the phone. Carlton, what is going on? Buzz is here to take me down to the station." She forced herself to ignore the anger. _He's afraid,_ she thought in an attempt to console herself.

The attempt was not incredibly successful.

Melody heard him take a deep breath. "Sweetheart, you need to go with him. I can't explain what's going on right now. I'll meet you at the station and tell you everything then." There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. "Everything's going to be ok. I promise." Carlton sounded as if he were trying to convince himself as well as his girlfriend.

"Carlton..." Melody was pleading now, and she wasn't sure what she was pleading for.

"I'll see you soon," he assured the woman, sounding distracted.

"I love you," Melody offered desperately even as the detective hung up. She looked up to find Buzz watching her with sympathetic eyes. "Alright," she said, slightly defeated. "Let's go."

...

Shawn and Gus waited in Chief Vick's office, for once not cracking jokes or planning shenanigans. Each man had received a rather frantic and unsettling call from Jules instructing them to get down to the station and _stay put._ No messing around, no jokes. Wait for the detectives to return. Shawn had wanted to say something, make light of the tension, but the urgency in Jules' voice had made him falter. He hadn't even bothered to call Gus; the blue Echo pulled up outside his apartment mere seconds after he'd hung up with Jules. They rode to the station in silence, Shawn noting that Gus's hands (reliably at ten and two) were clenched tightly around the steering wheel, his knuckles a few shades paler than the rest of his skin. They entered the building and Gus stopped at the reception desk, frowning.

"Melody's not here." He stared at the desk for a moment, worry mounting. "You don't think..."

Shawn hesitated, then shook his head. "No. Of course not. It's her day off today." He looked back at Gus. "Come on, buddy. I'm sure it's fine." The pair reluctantly found their way to Vick's office and settled in, Shawn leaning against the desk and Gus pacing, waiting anxiously for Jules and Lassiter to return and explain what exactly was going on.

Melody came upon the duo as a very relieved young officer escorted her into Chief Vick's office. "Hey guys," Buzz greeted as cheerfully as he could muster. "How was the drive here?"

The two men shared a glance. "Buzz, what's going on?" Gus asked, just the slightest hint of annoyance tinged with uncertainty in his voice.

"I don't know," the officer admitted uncomfortably for the second time that day. "But the chief just called and said they're on their way. They should be here in a few minutes." He directed his attention to the lady. "Is there anything I can get you, Mel?"

Melody smiled weakly. "No, but thank you Buzz. I'm fine." The officer took up a position against the wall next to the door. Melody took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk and sighed heavily, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. "You two got invited to the party too?"

Shawn smiled in spite of himself. "Wow. You skip work once and they send out a squadron to haul you in." Melody let out a hysterical giggle that faded eerily in the tense silence. Gus continued pacing, stopping every few seconds to inspect the deflated woman in the chair before resuming his path. Shawn's right knee bounced rapidly, his pant leg scuffing softly against the edge of the desk. All three jumped at the sound of the office door opening.

Karen Vick surveyed her office with evident relief. "Good, you all made it." She glanced at McNab, dutifully standing at attention. "Thank you, officer, you can go now." Buzz nodded, smiled sympathetically at Melody, and returned to his desk. Karen sat down at her desk and waited for her detectives to settle in. O'Hara took the remaining chair in front of the desk; Shawn moved to stand next to her and Gus followed. Lassiter took his place behind Melody, and if his hand rested gently on her shoulder and her hand crept up to rest on top of his, well, that was none of Karen's business.

The chief allowed herself a moment to gather her thoughts as she inspected the crowd gathered before her. Two detectives, shocked and agitated, and three civilians caught up in a mess larger than they knew. "Well, I suppose I should just begin. We discovered a homicide this morning, thanks to an anonymous tip. I won't describe the details of the scene; CSU is just now beginning to go over the area." Vick closed her eyes. "Believe me when I say that in all my years on the force, I don't think I've seen anything as gruesome as that crime scene." Gus blanched and went pale as he took mental stock of all the bloody messes he'd seen in just his three years working with Psych; he couldn't imagine something so bad that the chief could hardly handle it. Shawn shot surreptitious glances at both detectives and noticed that neither Jules nor Lassiter looked as if they were about to disagree with Vick's assessment. In fact, Juliet looked ill and Lassiter was whiter than usual. Not a good sign. Melody kept her eyes trained on the chief and her hand gripped tightly on Carlton's, waiting for the explanation.

"The victim was a man by the name of Stanley Bernstein, a police academy dropout and an accountant. As of yet we have no leads on just who the murderer is." Karen hesitated, her eyes flickering to Lassiter. "However. At the murder scene, the killer left a message targeted at Detective Lassiter." Shawn's eyes darted to the detective, who cleared his throat and tightened his grip on Melody's shoulder.

"I believe the message was a challenge," he began in monotone, forcing himself to get through the explanation. _Now that I have your attention, Detective..._ "The killer is someone who knows me, or knows about me. He knew that I was a friend of Stan's when we were at the academy together. And he knows..." Deep breath. "There is reason to believe that he knows with whom I associate closely. He wants me to figure out who his next victim will be, and I assume the challenge is to stop him before he gets to them."

"You're sure it's not Yin?" Melody had never heard Shawn sound so deadly serious since meeting him. She didn't know who Yin was, but from the way everyone in the room tensed at the name she was willing to bet that he wasn't someone she ever wanted to meet.

Carlton shook his head. "There was no signature. If it had been Yin, we would have known. And he probably would have called you out," he nodded at Shawn. "Whoever this psycho is, he's probably someone with a grudge or looking for fame." Lassiter thought for a moment. "And it's likely that I've met him before."

Gus interrupted hesitantly. "But why exactly are we here? Why couldn't you just tell us that you wanted to hire us over the phone or something?"

Chief Vick reviewed her consultants with pity. "Because you're not being hired onto this case, Mr. Guster. You are all here because it's likely that one of you is the next intended victim."


	14. Chapter 14

The alarm went off but failed to wake Melody. Carlton, however, jolted out of his near-sleep with a snort. He silenced the buzzing phone and opened it, dialed and pressed it to his ear. It rang once.

"SBPD, Officer Alden."

"This is Detective Lassiter, checking in for Melody Scott. All is well."

"Thank you, Detective. All is well with the others as well. Talk to you in an hour."

Carlton shut the phone and pinched the bridge of his nose. _Damn hourly check-ins_, his mind grumbled mutinously. He understood the intent behind them, and quite frankly he appreciated knowing that the other three were safe as well, but understanding didn't go very far when he hadn't slept all night and had to go to work early the next morning. The check-in calls really weren't the worst of it all, unless the caller had just happened to finally fall asleep only to hear the alarm go off again minutes later.

The plan of action (or inaction, to be more accurate) was simple: all four were expected to remain at the station at all times during the day, and leave only with a police escort to go directly home, where patrol officers would watch from a discreet distance and report any and all suspicious activity at each location. Juliet was furious that Vick had put her under watch as well, adamant that as an experienced detective she was more than capable of taking care of herself, but the chief stood firm; in all likelihood, Melody and Jules were the two prime targets as Carlton's girlfriend and partner respectively. Shawn and Gus were also in danger, seeing how they had worked closely with Lassiter for the better part of five years and had built a grudging but firm rapport with the detective; in all reality, Lassiter was just as likely to go out of his way to save either of the two men as he was to come to the aid one of his fellow officers. Still, the pair had protested that they weren't in need of protection from the killer (well, Shawn had protested. Gus was all for hiring an entourage of armed body guards, active immediately).

Chief Vick had brought in cold reality. "Judging from the way the threat was worded and the fact that the first victim hadn't interacted with him in years, it's safe to assume that anyone Detective Lassiter has ever had any sort of contact with could be next." This silenced the protests. "Since we can't possibly put the entire city on lock down, I am determined to at least ensure the protection of the people who are at the most risk."

It was decided that O'Hara would be confined to her desk for the duration of the case and that the Psych detective team would move all operations temporarily into the police station. Not that they would be taking any cases; at least, no cases that required them to actually leave the building. And the receptionist was suddenly stripped of her days off, at least until everything was over.

It occurred to each of the four affected parties that these orders were strictly unenforceable; legally, Chief Vick couldn't tell any of them that they had to stay at the station (except for Juliet).

It also occurred to them that Chief Vick cared for them more than she let on, and they grudgingly accepted the orders.

Lassiter had witnessed the debriefing in silence, never removing his hand from Melody's shoulder. He had sympathized with his partner's frustration at being baby-sat, remembering the Drimmer debacle. He knew what it was like to have to sit on the sidelines while everyone else got to do the real work.

But he hadn't said a word, because his job was just as infuriating.

Carlton knew that the killer really only wanted him, and that any other victims were just collateral damage, the means to an end. He also knew that unless CSU had been able to find DNA not belonging to the victim within the mess of the crime scene, there were no strong leads in the case. Lassiter could draw up a list a hundred miles long of people who would have motive to go after him. Even after eliminating those with alibis (or the ones who were currently incarcerated), the options would be overwhelming. And there simply wasn't enough manpower in the entire SBPD to track down every single possible suspect for questioning.

This meant that he was confined to playing a waiting game. Until the killer made his next move, whether it was dropping a hint or (God forbid) taking another life, there was nothing Lassiter could really do except continue working other cases and pretend, for the public, that everything was business as usual. Meanwhile, on the inside Carlton felt like screaming, felt like hitting something or someone. Every person who looked at him funny, maintained eye contact for too long or smiled to wide, was the killer. Every time his phone rang, it was the call telling him that another completely innocent person was dead.

In short, life was kind of hellish.

With a heavy sigh, Carlton stretched out next to Melody on the bed and closed his eyes. For a moment, he allowed his thoughts to lapse into self-pity. _Why me? Out of every police officer, every single detective in the world, the psycho has to come after me?_ _A divorced, overworked detective who has to deal with a phony psychic and his straight man every day. How is that fair?_

Melody wrenched awake, startling Carlton and causing him to nearly fall off the bed. "Carlton!" she cried out in panic.

"Right here," he called as he scrambled back up onto the bed. "I'm right here." He wrapped his arms around her, noticing that she was trembling. "Nightmare?"

Melody nodded, tucking her head in the junction where Carlton's neck met his shoulder. "He got you," she croaked bluntly. "You were dead." Melody had opted not to see the crime scene photos; she didn't have much of a stomach for gore. In her dream, his body hadn't been mutilated in any way. It was completely intact, still and pale as a marble statue. He could have been sleeping, save for the fact that his eyes were open and staring, lifeless and unfocused. Words scrawled in blood danced behind her eyelids (whose blood? The body had been unmarred): _Game Over_.

"That's not going to happen." Carlton's arms tightened around the woman. He was in red-alert mode now, which meant that he made sure to have three firearms on his person at all times. (This was only slightly different from "code yellow," which meant that he had two firearms and a tazer. "Code yellow-green" meant one gun and a rape whistle. He had no "code green.") Carlton Lassiter wasn't the youngest Head Detective in SBPD history for nothing; he knew he could take care of himself. As far as he was concerned, no wanna-be serial killer was going to get the better of him any time soon.

Remembering the tense young woman in his arms, Carlton relaxed and took a deep breath. "It was only a dream. I'm fine." He stroked her hair absently. "You know you're safe with me, right?"

"I know." The reply was steady, but her eyes were doubtful. Melody leaned into the strong body that held her captive for a few moments, her brow furrowed in thought, before extricating herself from his grasp. She regarded Carlton with determination. "Promise me something."

The look in Melody's eyes was unsettling, to say the least, and Carlton was afraid that she was going to ask him to promise something impossible; then again, just the other night he'd been kept awake by the conviction that if she asked for the moon he'd go up into space and haul the sucker into custody, so he really had no choice. "Of course."

"Promise me that when you find out where he is, when you go after him, you won't try to be a hero."

Whatever Carlton had expected, this wasn't it. _Don't try to be a hero?_ Lassiter didn't have to _try_ to be a hero; it was in his blood. Grabbing ahold of his ego, Carlton wrestled it into submission and stared down at his girlfriend in stunned silence.

Melody continued in a rush. "You know if any other officer went to confront a known killer without backup, you would take it out of his hide if he survived. And I know you think that this guy is your responsibility, and you don't want to ask anyone to put themselves in danger on your account, but there are a lot of people who need you to stick around, and I just..." The woman shrugged, slightly embarrassed. "Maybe it's selfish, but I don't want to lose you now that I've found you."

Carlton leaned back against the headboard, allowing Melody's words to sink in. It was a little shocking how dead-on she was with her assessment. Especially considering the fact that he himself hadn't really given much thought to the eventuality of how he would confront the killer. Now that someone had brought it up, Carlton realized that a one-man mission was exactly what he would have done. _I have to do my job,_ he thought firmly. _No matter what happens, I have a responsibility as a detective to apprehend the criminal._

_But you don't have to do it alone,_ a quiet voice whispered in the back of his mind. _You don't have to go on a solo march to your death._ His gaze dropped back down to the woman staring intently at him. _You have something to come home to now; maybe you should do your best to make sure you actually come home_.

Carlton knew that in a perfect world, he would be able to make that promise. He would be able to take his girlfriend in his arms and assure her that he would never leave her, not now that he'd finally found happiness. But his police officer's mind would not let him idealize the situation and turn the conversation into something straight out of a romance novel. Because foremost in Carlton's mind was the thought that his showdown with the killer could very well be initiated by the kidnapping and subsequent murder of his girlfriend. And by that point, he wasn't entirely sure that he would care all that much about promises or staying alive.

So the detective averted his eyes and murmured, "You should try to get some sleep."

Melody sat stunned for a moment, studying the man next to her in disbelief. "Carlton, I'm not going to let this slide," she began with just a hint of incredulity. "If you think you can just avoid-"

"I'm not avoiding anything, Melody," the man snapped. "I have a job to do, and that takes precedence over personal issues. I'm sorry," he added a little softer, slightly ashamed of his reaction, "but that's the way it has to be."

It was a bit much to digest on top of the stress of the day and the dreadful anticipation of each successive hour lurking around the corner; Melody turned away and got out of bed. "Ok," she replied dully, ignoring the tears welling up in her eyes. "I understand." There was a long, pregnant pause between the pair; each one knew that something more had to be said, some effort needed to be made to repair the sudden gap that had been ripped open between the two, but neither the man or the woman knew what to do. "You have to work in the morning," Melody finally offered. "Go to sleep. I'll take the rest of the check-ins tonight." She reached out to take the phone from Carlton.

He caught her wrist and looked up pleadingly into her eyes. "Melody..." She could see the apology in his eyes, a complicated jumble of explanation and emotion close behind, but she ignored it all and offered a weak smile before maneuvering out of his grasp. Maybe any other day she would have stopped to figure everything out, to keep the lines of communication open, but Melody was tired and scared.

Carlton watched her retreat into the living room and sat in silent frustration. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. He was supposed to be the strong protector with all the answers, and she was supposed to be the adoring damsel who hopefully would stay out of distress. And now he was just a jerk with good intentions that alienated the woman he loved because he still put his job before everything else.

The detective turned his head to look at the clock. Forty-five minutes until the next check-in and counting.


	15. Chapter 15

**Short chapter, I know, and low on actual action. There's method to my madness. Believe me, this update was absolutely necessary. Enjoy.**

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"Are you ok?"

Melody jerked out of her mindless stare, dropping her pen on the floor. She dove after the utensil with a groan of frustration, ignoring the chuckle disguised as a half-hearted cough that stood in front of her desk. Readjusting herself and placing the offending object primly in her pencil mug, Melody met the eyes of one Burton Guster. "Sorry, what was that?"

"Sorry for startling you. I just asked if you were ok." Concern was written clearly across the man's features as he searched the receptionist's face.

"Oh. Yeah, I'm fine," the woman replied breezily. She caught the slight raise of the eyebrow and amended, "Well, except for the whole psychotic killer thing. Really," she protested when Gus still didn't look convinced, "I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

Gus hesitated. He knew better than to say anything about her appearance, how there were dark circles under her eyes and they were a little red, as if she'd been crying. And he knew that mentioning the fact that the receptionist was completely avoiding the head detective, refusing even to look at him, was probably not a good tactic either. He reached out and patted Melody's hand lamely. "Just checking up. All the stress, you know."

"Thanks, I appreciate that," Melody replied, completely content to maintain the charade. "Are you ok, Gus?"

The man smiled. "I'm fine." He glanced back into Chief Vick's office. "I'd better go make sure Shawn isn't destroying everything." Another concerned look, a slight hesitation. "If you need anything, just let me know."

"Thanks," Melody called faintly against Gus' retreating figure. She forced herself to sit up straighter, inwardly chiding herself for allowing her emotions to be so clearly displayed on her face. Gus wasn't exactly a close friend, not like Juliet (or even Shawn to a certain extent); the fact that he had decided to check up on Melody meant that she must look awful. Melody schooled her expression into one of neutrality and kept her eyes from flickering to a specific desk. She refused to distract Carlton with her own stupid insecurities; it was bad enough that he hadn't slept much the night before. No need to make his day even worse.

Gus shut the office door behind him and turned to look at Shawn. Ignoring his best friend's current position (lying prone on top of Vick's desk, the glass fish nestled up against his right ear), the man flopped down onto the couch in the corner. "I'm worried about Melody," he announced without preamble.

Shawn's head snapped up, and he reached out quickly to keep the fish from falling off the edge of the desk. "Mel? Why? Did something happen?" He directed his gaze through the windowed office to the reception area and studied the secretary.

"I don't know," Gus replied. "She's just acting strange. Quieter than usual. And Lassiter's acting more... Lassiter-ish than he has in a long time."

"Lassiter-ish? Buddy! I'm proud of you, you made up a word!" Shawn felt the withering glare shot in his direction as he continued to inspect the woman outside the office. "You're right. Something's up." Still lying belly-down on the desk, he directed his attention back to Gus. "Did you ask her what was wrong?"

Gus shrugged. "She said she was fine."

Shawn sat up, regarding his best friend incredulously. "And you believed her?"

"I didn't want to push the issue," Gus retorted. "We're not that close. I didn't feel comfortable prying." He paused for a moment. "Maybe you should go talk to her."

Shawn raised an eyebrow. "We're not that close either."

"You're closer to her than I am. Besides, that's never stopped you from snooping in someone's business before."

"I prefer the term 'investigating where I don't belong,' Gus."

"Whatever. The point is, you're observant, and people tell you things. You could at least try."

Shawn threw a glance at the woman and shrugged. "Why not? I'm already Lassie's dating coach; I guess I can be Mel's too." He jumped off the desk and shot a dramatic look at his partner. "Alright, buddy, I'm going in. Cover me." Gus rolled his eyes and pulled his laptop out from under the couch, determined to get some work done while Shawn was distracted.

Melody noticed the approaching psychic when he was about ten feet from her desk. She offered up what she hoped was a serene smile and greeted, "Hey Shawn."

Without preamble, Shawn raised a hand to his temple. "Mel, I'm sensing that all is not right with my favorite phone-jockey."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the woman protested, turning her attention to a collection of neon pink sticky notes that apparently were not arranged in the correct configuration on the surface of her desk.

"The spirits are picking up on some serious bad vibes between you and a certain detective," he continued unperturbed. "Yes, all is definitely not well in Happy Romance Land." When Melody's hands stilled and her eyes wouldn't meet his, Shawn's tone softened. "You might as well just talk to me, Mel. I don't want to have to break out my interrogation tactics."

The receptionist sighed, surrendering. "Not here." she pleaded, hazarding a glance at Carlton's desk. The detective, for his part, was studiously ignoring everything and everyone in the near vicinity of the reception desk and was completely absorbed in the task of refilling his stapler. "Come with me to the copy room?"

Shawn followed, for once without comment, and watched with amusement as Melody double-checked the hallway for any possible spies before shutting the door to the small room before sinking into a seated position on the floor. Shawn followed suit and waited expectantly for the woman to spill.

"We had our first real fight yesterday, but that's not really the issue," Melody began. She thought quietly for a moment. "I guess I'm starting to realize that it's really hard to be involved with a detective."

Smiling wryly and thinking about his own love life, Shawn nodded. "What did you fight about?"

Melody laughed and ran a hand through her hair. "I'm going to sound like a stupid teenager... I tried to make him promise that he wouldn't go get himself killed on this case," she explained, "and he wouldn't make the promise. I was pushy about it, and he basically told me that his job comes before me."

"Yikes."

"No, he's right," Melody protested, fiddling with her watch. "He's always been upfront about that. He wouldn't be such a great cop if he let his personal life come before his job." Shawn bit his tongue to hold back any number of snarky comments about the "great cop" thing. "It was selfish of me to ask him to make that promise. I just wanted to feel validated, special. You know?"

Shawn studied the woman seated next to him and nodded slowly. "Yeah, I know." Most of his life had been attempts to feel validation. The pair sat in silence for a moment. "So what's the real issue then?"

Melody frowned; she'd hoped the man wouldn't pick up on that comment. But he was psychic after all. "I'm terrified that I don't have a lot of time with him left. He could be killed any day in the line of duty, and I just..." She sighed and almost didn't ask the question that was on the tip of her tongue, but at the last second she went with her impulse. "How do you handle being in love with a detective, Shawn?"

The man froze, taking his time to formulate a response. "You don't mean 'you' in the general sense, do you?"

"It's not that difficult to see," Melody replied softly. "And before you say anything, it doesn't matter that you're not officially together. It's the same feeling either way." Shawn sat in silence, and Melody took that as her cue to continue. "It's just, they could go outside and get shot tomorrow, they could leave the station and never come back, and here we are with broken hearts and the thought that we should have known better. How are we supposed to handle that?"

Shawn smiled a little bitterly. "We just do. It's not like we have a choice." Melody frowned, confused. "Are you going to stop being in love with him anytime soon?" When she shook her head, he nodded with finality. "There you go. No choice. You just have to keep going and hope it lasts longer than a few more days."

Melody stared up at the ceiling for a long minute, then laughed and shook her head. "That's kind of bleak." She pulled herself up off the ground. "I should probably get back to answering the phones that aren't ringing." She looked down at Shawn, still seated on the floor, and smiled sadly. "Thank you, Shawn." She held out her hand to the man.

"No, you go ahead. I've got some copies to make," the psychic lied transparently. Melody shook her head again and left the man in the copy room. Shawn let out a sigh that turned into a quiet groan and he let his head fall back, hitting the wall with a muffled thump. Of course the psychiatrist would be able to pick up on his romantic turmoil. Out of everyone in the station, the one person who had him figured out was the one who had known him for the shortest period of time. The only person he'd actually explicitly told about his real feelings for Jules was Gus, for obvious reasons. Everyone else in the department knew that he and Juliet flirted a lot, and probably cared about each other, but no one so far had guessed that Shawn Spencer was actually seriously in love with anyone, much less the unattainable Detective O'Hara.

Shawn had to admit, it was kind of a relief knowing that someone else knew how he felt (besides Gus). The fact that the same someone was pretty much in the same boat was an added plus.

But Melody was wrong about one thing. His feelings for Jules weren't the same as they would be if the two were actually together. Because on top of the fear of losing the woman he loved was the added knowledge that she could die before he ever got up the nerve to tell her how he felt. That kind of regret was crippling, and Shawn didn't think that he was honestly strong enough to handle it. But he wasn't sure he was strong enough to tell Jules the truth, either.

"A sticky conundrum, my friend," he admitted heavily to the copy machine.


End file.
